


Lost & Found

by Thursday26



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Doctor's Appointments, M/M, Mpreg, OCs - Freeform, Semi-unrealistic Refractionary Times, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags to be added, Underage Drinking, Unplanned Pregnancy, breakdowns, supportive aunts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday26/pseuds/Thursday26
Summary: Peter loses his long-time girlfriend in his first year of college. Without Spiderman, he doesn't have an outlet for all the grief and anger he feels. So, he turns to self-destructive behavior of sneaking into clubs (since he's only 18), drinking, and  withdrawing from his family and friends. One night, he meets Wade Wilson, who's just come back from active duty and isn't doing so hot.An A/B/O fic that I needed and couldn't find, so I wrote it myself.





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like Rocks Under Tide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6425053) by [Potrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix). 



> The actual headcannon for this fic is so much longer, and can be found in Chapter 4 of the endnotes of the fic that inspired this one. I don't want to include it because it has spoilers. 
> 
> In this fic, the Peter Parker I see is the one from the Civil War comic, so probably close to the Andrew Garfield Spiderman when it comes to appearance. Personality I' m inspired by the Ultimate Spiderman TV series. Deadpool is Ryan Reynolds looking, but blue eyed cause I'm a sucker for blue eyes. 
> 
> I am going to add more tags as I write this, but I think that I've got everything covered for the first chapter at least, but be wary of added tags as the story goes on. This is my first attempt at anything this long, so please be gentle.
> 
> But, as a heads up, this fic will prominently feature Mpreg, so if that is not your cup of tea, please don't torture yourself. Otherwise, enjoy :)
> 
> PS. The fic this was inspired from is not a spideypool fic, but features spideypool for a short time. It is a steve/tony/bucky fic and I highly recommend it!

Peter is numb, or at least his face is. He’s spent the last month or so self-medicating with alcohol or meaningless sex. When he feels that ache inside him, it’s easy to go home with the first person who shows any interest in him. As a young, male omega, he kind of has the pick of the crop. As a romanticized minority, there's no shortage of alphas or betas who would love to take him home. Other omegas like him too, because he's not about to strike a claim over another omega. And the lure of a taboo relationship is tantalizing for one night; but only one night. Peter knows he’s attractive, and he knows he can pick whoever he wants. He’s got messy, brown hair, soft, amber eyes, pouty lips and a lithe frame that looks like it can be bent to anyone’s whims. He’s dressed casually, but attractively. His blue shirt has the chemical formula for alcohol on it, his favorite grey cardigan is hanging over his shoulders, and he's wearing his most comfortable pair of jeans. They have the added bonus of making his ass look like a work of art. Or so he's been told.

Tonight, Peter isn’t looking for a companion. The loneliness isn’t consuming him, so he wants to drink his weight in alcohol. He doesn’t care what it is, he only wants to get drunk. That being said, it’s hard for him to get drinks himself. Peter is only 18 and still baby-faced. Even if he can sneak in past the bouncer, the bartenders tend to think he’s a little too young, and his fake ID is a joke. Thus, Peter relies on the ‘generosity’ of alphas to get his buzz on. He’s had to come to sketchier and sketchier bars to meet his needs. Peter's found that in clubs that are 'safer,' he blends in with the mass of pretty omegas, even if he is a male omega. At pubs and dive bars, Peter stands out, and the drinks keep flowing.

This bar is probably the sketchiest yet, and Peter can’t quite recall how he found it. He was at another bar earlier, but the bartender was starting to get suspicious, so Peter bailed. The interior looks grimy and sticky, with poor lighting and a bunch of beat up tables spread around the room. There are some booths across the back of the room, with their own little chandelier light that is not doing its patrons any favors. This groups of people look a little rough, and, if Peter wasn’t already drunk, the omega wouldn’t have come in here. The alphas, male and female, look gruff with cut off jean jackets and bandanas wrapped around wrists and biceps. Some female betas and omegas are spread around the room, dressed provocatively, and, Peter assumes, are hookers. There’s even a shady looking guy at the bar, whose wearing a zip-up hoodie with the hood pulled over his head. Peter didn’t get a good look, but he swears that the guy was wearing gloves.

Even with the shady clientele, Peter has found an alpha who is more than happy to buy him drink after drink. Although, Peter made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with the alpha with drink number one. He nodded like he agreed and hung around Peter for most of the night, feeding him sweet drinks and touching him. The alpha isn’t bad looking, or as gruff looking as some of the groups that are sitting around tables. He has cropped, blonde hair, steel grey eyes and a nasty looking scar down his right cheek, but a nice smile. He’s taller than Peter and bigger. His muscles strain against the black long sleeve he has on and his hands fit over Peter’s hips without issue. Peter has found his home on the little dance floor this place has to offer. Although, calling it a dance floor is generous. It's a cleared space in front of the juke box, but there's enough space that people could dance here if they wanted. Peter doesn’t care what's playing; all he wants to do is sway to the beat and drink until his numb face turns into a numb everything.

The alpha’s (Peter couldn’t even remember the guy’s name) hands are starting to get a little too grabby, though. It's distracting Peter from his desire to forget everything. Peter doesn’t mind the touching, or the soft grinding thing they got going on, but the alpha is starting to touch with purpose. He pets down Peter’s front and those hands get too close to Peter’s groin. Peter grabs them and tosses them away. “Stop it,” he orders, words slurring together and drunk enough that he is going to do and say exactly what he wants.

The alpha takes another step closer, pressing himself into Peter’s back. “Don’t be like that, baby. I’m just having some fun,” he says into Peter’s ear, running his hands up Peter’s stomach and pinching his nipples.

Peter arches into the touch, but he doesn’t want it. He tries to shove the alpha away, but he’s pretty solid. “No, I already told you—“

Peter’s slammed into the wall next to the juke box before he can say anything else. He has to brace himself against the wall, so he isn’t completely crushed. “Don’t play hard to get now. I’ve been giving you drinks all night, you owe me at least a touch.” The alpha crouches and grinds his crotch into Peter’s backside.

“No! Stop!” he yells, horrified when he feels the half-hard erection grinding into him. He pushes at the wall and wiggles, trying to get free, but the alpha won’t be moved. “Stop!” he tries again, but a large hand is slapped over his mouth and any noise is muffled. The buzz he’s been nurturing all night is clearing and Peter is panicking. He screams through the hand, and it sounds loud to Peter’s ears, but he doesn’t know if anyone can hear it over the music. Tears start prickling in his eyes, but he won’t cry.

The alpha grinds against him again. He groans in Peter’s ear. “See? Doesn’t that feel good?”

Peter shakes his head and struggles some more, using his right hand to push against the alpha’s body behind him. He’s not getting much leverage with the weird angle, but he just needs enough room to slip away. As Peter’s hand slips off the alpha’s abdomen, again, he’s torn away. Peter spins around, pressing his back into the wall. All he sees is the broad back of the guy from the bar, the one wearing the hoodie. Peter sniffs the air and smells another alpha. It has to be the stranger. He smells like burnt matches and spicy food. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Hoodie Alpha yells.

Peter takes a step to look around the alpha’s back. Blonde Alpha is snarling at Hoodie Alpha, and they are attracting the attention from a few tables.

“Fuck off, freak. I saw him first, get your own bitch!”

“Hey!” Peter protests, “I said ‘no’ asshole! Take a hint!” The panic and fear he felt is quickly being replaced by rage. Fuck this guy. Peter tries to charge the guy to… hit him? Peter doesn’t have a plan, but he wants Blondie to regret it. Hoodie sticks out his arm and stops Peter in his tracks. Peter’s hands grip the arm, so he can find his balance. Holy hell. Peter stares down at the limb. That’s a lot of muscle.

“You heard him dick-for-brains, he said ‘no.’ Now, fuck off.”

Blondie growls and charges, pulling his arm back to throw a punch. The movement is so slow that Peter can even tell, and he can’t fight worth shit. Hoodie dodges the swing, barely moving, and uses Blondie's momentum to deliver a devastating blow to his face. The sound is heavy, stuck somewhere between a _thump_ and a _crack_ , and Blondie is on the ground. He’s knocked out cold, or Peter thinks he is. He’s never heard that noise before. There’s a surprised silence that follows, except for the music that is still playing. People at the tables are staring, their reactions varying from shocked to annoyed. Then there’s a loud “Hey!” from the bartender, or bouncer, but someone that has some sort of authority, and everything snaps into motion.

Peter grabs onto Hoodie’s hand without thinking and is pulled out of the bar through some back door. They run through the night. Peter isn’t paying attention to where they’re going, okay with being pulled wherever this alpha is going. All Peter can focus on is how wide the alpha’s shoulders are and how strong his grip is around his hand. It’s a testament to how messed up Peter is when he doesn’t think that it’s weird for the guy to be wearing gloves at the end of July.

When Peter realizes how heavy his breathing is, he tugs the alpha into slowing down. Peter pulls the guy into the shadows, with his back against the wall. They don’t stand too close, but Peter doesn’t let go of his hand. The alpha watches Peter move and moves where he’s told with his head tilted, like he’s forgotten that he’s been dragging the omega somewhere. Peter smiles at the man, a friendly and grateful smile. The alpha’s shoulders visibly tense. In the shadows, Peter can’t see the guy’s face, although he is mildly impressed that the hood never came off while they were running away. “Thank you,” Peter says, squeezing the man’s hand, “I don’t think that guy was gonna stop.”

He squeezes back gently, almost hesitantly. “No need to thank me, baby boy, just doing the right thing.” He looks around the street and scratches the back of his head, ducking down like he’s embarrassed. “And I’m sorry for dragging you around the city. You probably wanna go home. I’ll get ya a taxi.”

He moves towards the curb, already raising his hand, but Peter pulls him back. Peter feels his smile turn liquid when he feels all the alpha’s attention snapped to him. “Oh, I wanna go home, but I kinda wanna go to your home.” Peter blushes at his own straightforwardness. He’s usually not the one that doles out pickup lines. Or tries to. The alpha looks stunned. Peter wonders if he’s even breathing. “I mean,” Peter adds quickly, trying to stay nonchalant and almost hits it, “only if you want to. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

The alpha shakes his head and Peter’s face falls. He’s never been rejected before. He looks down, hating that there’s a humiliated blush burning across his cheeks. The alphas grabs onto Peter’s other hand and talks fast, “No, don’t look like that, baby boy. I’d love to have you in my home. Trust me, my inner voices are yelling very loudly at me, but you’re very drunk and still reeling from that asshole that I laid out.” Peter looks up at the guy and he ducks down, so his face is closer to Peter's. “I don’t want you to regret it,” he admits, almost in a whisper.

The admission is sweet, and something inside Peter recognizes that, but all Peter feels is… anger? There’s other stuff in there, but anger is the easiest to feel. No one can tell him what he does and doesn’t feel. Not some rape-y alpha, or the sweet one that saved him. He’s his own person and he can make his own damn decisions _thankyouverymuch_. Peter uses both his hands to pull the alpha towards him. The movement must take the alpha by surprise, because he stumbles forwards, letting go of Peter’s hands to brace himself against the wall. Peter grips the alpha by his shoulders, so he can’t stumble away. Closer, Peter can see the texture of the alpha’s skin, even if it is still completely covered in shadows. It looks… scarred? It’s uneven. “Don’t tell me what I'm feeling,” Peter growls, ignoring the new information about his savior’s face. The alpha shivers.

“Good God, you’re pressing all my buttons.”

Peter smirks, dragging his index finger on his right hand down the alpha’s chest until he can hook it in a belt loop. The alpha’s breath is shaky as Peter’s hand descends, and abruptly cuts off when he gets a finger through a loop. He pulls the alpha closer and the alpha leans down, his body moving close enough that Peter can feel the heat radiating off him. “Gonna take me home, Mr. Alpha?” Peter whispers.

Peter can feel the alpha exhale, the warm breath puffing against his face. “Sweet baby Jesus, okay. Okay. I’ll take ya home, but full disclosure, baby: I am covered in scars. Head to toe. They are not pretty and have been described as ‘disgustingly horrifying.’ So, you can back out anytime. I know that it can be overwh—“

“Do they hurt?” Peter asks over the alpha. The question seems to stun him.

“N-No.”

Peter relaxes, pulling the alpha down until he can feel his breath on his lips. He moves to the side, resting his cheek against the alpha’s, and whispers, “Then I don’t care.” The alpha shivers. Peter smiles again. “Take me home, Mr. Alpha.”

“Oh, God.” The alpha slips away from Peter, grabbing the hand that was in his belt loop to pull the omega along. It takes Peter a moment to realize that the building they stop at is right next door to where they stopped. Peter chuckles as the alpha throws open the front door. It wasn’t even locked. “What’s so funny?” he asks, pulling Peter up the stairs to the second floor.

“It seems like you were already bringing me home.” The alpha’s shoulders tense, but they don’t stop moving. Peter doesn’t talk again until the alpha is fumbling with his key in front of a door labelled 2D. “It must have been instinctual,” he continues airily, like he doesn’t care, “After all, you won the fight.”

The lock clicks and Peter is dragged into the apartment fast enough that the room spins for a moment. “Fight?” the alpha echoes, voice cracking.

Peter kicks the door shut behind them. “The fight for the pretty omega.” He lets the alpha lead him through the darkened apartment. He can’t see a thing until they come into the doorway of the bedroom. The open window lets in the streetlight and whatever moonlight that isn’t washed out by the light pollution of New York, so Peter can see the bed and the mess around it. “You,” Peter continues, pulling at the alpha so he’s facing him again, “proved you were the stronger alpha.” He slinks closer, wrapping his arms around the alpha’s neck as much as he can with their height difference. “You took that alpha down with one hit. How strong…” He leans towards the alpha, whispering, “You won the pretty omega.” The alpha growls, pleased and possessive, and starts to lean down to kiss Peter, but the omega keeps just out of kissing range. Large hands come to grip his hips, holding him in place, and Peter likes these hands much more. “What are you going to do with your prize, Mr. Alpha?”

This time, Peter allows the kiss, moaning into it. He pulls at the alpha, trying to get him closer. The kiss almost hurts, but Peter loves it. He bites at the alpha’s lips, groaning every time that the alpha bites back. Their teeth knock together and Peter’s lips are sore in record time. He’s loving the kiss, but he hates how he’s having to be on his toes, so he jumps up. His legs hook over the alpha’s hips and his arms tighten over his shoulders. The alpha compensates for Peter’s weight without trouble, taking a step to regain his balance. His hands move to Peter’s ass, pulling the omega’s body as close as possible.

Yes, this is way better. One, the alpha has to hold onto his ass and it sends sparks through Peter’s system. Two, the angle for their kissing is way better. Peter is slightly elevated and it makes all the difference. He can also push that fucking hood off the alpha’s head. Peter is greeted with uneven skin and the alpha falters, but Peter won’t have it. He grabs the sides of the alpha’s face, demanding a harder kiss without words. It takes a moment for the alpha to give in to Peter’s demand, but he does. And Peter smiles.

Then, the world spins and Peter finds himself on his back on the alpha’s bed, with said alpha looming over him. In the poor light coming in from the window, Peter can see the scars more clearly. They look like burn scars and Peter hates to think about the alpha being on fire. The alpha looms over him, but doesn’t move closer. Peter can see the light reflecting off the whites of his eyes, but he can’t tell what color they are. The alpha seems to be waiting for Peter to do something. Peter looks longer, eyes drawn to the structure of the alpha’s face. He trails his hands over scarred cheekbones, tracing the line of his nose and fluttering over his forehead and rubbing over the bald head, until he grips the back of the alpha’s head and tugs him down. This kiss isn’t as demanding as before. Their lips press together and they move together. There isn’t as much teeth this time.

The alpha presses his body into Peter’s, leaning his weight into the omega. Peter groans at the contact, and at the strong line of the alpha’s erection that presses into his hip. Peter is dripping with slick now. Every time Peter moves his legs, he can feel his cheeks slipping together. He’s never been this turned on before, and they still have their clothes on. Strong hands move down Peter’s body and slip under his shirt. The alpha pushes up the fabric, but only to Peter’s chin. With his chest exposed, the alpha rubs his rough hands down Peter’s skin. Peter whines, arching into the touch. He feels like he may lose his mind. The alpha makes sure to touch every inch of Peter’s exposed skin before turning his attention to the omega’s nipples.

He’s relentless with them, pinching; twisting and rubbing them until Peter _has_ to break their kiss so he can _breathe_. The noise Peter makes is inhuman, caught somewhere between a whine and a scream. The alpha moves his mouth down Peter’s neck and chest until he latches onto a sore nipple. Peter keens, arching his back and moving a hand to the back of the alpha’s neck to hold him in place. Now that his mouth is busy with Peter’s nipples, the alpha can use his hands to work on Peter’s jeans. His fingers fumble for a second with the button, but it is no match in the end. Peter’s pants and underwear get pulled off together. Without the barrier of fabric, the scent of Peter’s slick fills the air and the alpha groans, hands slipping off the denim.

Peter’s pants get caught on his shoes, so the alpha has to put more thought into getting those leg prisons off. He stops torturing Peter’s nipples with his mouth and wrestles with Peter’s shoes. The alpha doesn’t move away from Peter’s chest, resting his forehead against Peter while he tugs at his pants. His hot breath still puffs over the nipples, sending zings of pleasure through Peter with every exhale. Peter’s pants come off soon, but not soon enough in Peter’s opinion. His nipples are still tingling from their abuse, but those hands are _not touching him_ and that is a problem. Peter tries to speak, but his tongue is heavy with pleasure and all that comes out is a slurring moan. At the noise, the alpha stares at him, kneeling _too damn far away_. Peter’s legs are half-sprawled, having fell wherever when the alpha finally freed his legs. “Why’d you stop?” Peter asks, voice low.

Peter can see the alpha lick his lips. The alpha tosses Peter’s pants and underwear onto the floor and settles his weight over Peter again. Their lips meet again and the alpha presses his chest into Peters, and the zipper of his hoodie is cold. Peter yelps at the sensation. “Clothes,” he says, pushing at the alpha’s chest to relieve himself of that cold. The alpha freezes. His face is so close to Peter’s and Peter swears he can see fear on the alpha’s face. “Please,” he whispers, running a palm up the alpha’s neck and cradling his cheek.

The alpha exhales, and it’s shaky, but he nods. “Okay, baby boy. Because you asked so nicely.” He sits up again and doesn’t bother with the zipper. He grips the hem and pulls it over his head, along with his shirt, in one, smooth motion. Peter swears he can see muscle rippling across the alpha’s chest and he whines, arching his back because there is too much distance between them. The alpha laughs and helps Peter get his shirt off over his head. It's a bit of a struggle to get Peter's shirt off, since they didn't bother removing the cardigan he's wearing. Once Peter's head pops out of the fabric, the alpha crashes their lips together, leaving Peter's shirt wrapped around his elbows. He settles between Peter’s spread thighs and kisses him hungrily, grinding against Peter’s hip and touching every piece of skin he can reach. Their chests rub together, and the alpha’s chest is just as rough as his hands. And it feels amazing.

Peter tries to throw his arms over the alpha’s shoulders, but the shirt and cardigan wrapped around his elbows catches on the alpha’s head, dislodging their lips. Twin growls of displeasure ripple through the air. The alpha tugs the clothes off viciously, jerking Peter's arms in his haste to rid him of his clothes. He throws them off the bed like the fabric offended him. The alpha settles back between Peter’s thighs and he grinds against Peter’s exposed cock, causing the omega to cry out. Peter loves it; it’s _perfect_. There's a bite of pain from the denim of the alpha's jeans, but it's just right. They grind together, mouths sliding over one another. “Please, please, please,” Peter begs, not sure what he’s asking for.

The alpha’s hands trail down Peter’s sides and fit over his hips like they were meant to be there. He uses his strong grip to move Peter against him. The small show of strength has Peter’s head spinning. “Oh, God… please…” Peter whispers. The alpha’s hands move from his hips, underneath the omega and cupping his ass cheeks. Peter groans at the contact, keening when large fingers brush over his hole.

The alpha teases the rim with one finger, testing the looseness of the muscle. “You’re so fucking wet,” he growls into Peter’s neck, nibbling at the exposed flesh there, “I’m going to wreck you.”

“Please, oh God, please,” Peter begs, groaning and tossing his head back when he feels another finger tease at his rim. They don’t get far, but they massage the muscle and rub him the right way. The alpha works slowly, massaging with two fingers, pushing and stretching the muscle. Peter loves the stretch. He's been active enough that it doesn't take much for his entrance to relax. Even though Peter relaxes, it takes _too damn long_ before the alpha adds a third finger to help with the stretch. Peter wants more, but he can’t get his tongue to work. All he can do is grind back against the intrusion and convey his desire through movement. With three fingers, the alpha has no problems finding Peter's prostate and stroking over it mercilessly. Peter is either going to fly straight off the bed, or he’s going to break in half. It feels so _good_ , but Peter doesn't want just his fingers.

The alpha gives the omega a small break from the assault on his prostate, but he doesn’t pull his fingers out. Peter gets enough blood flowing to his brain to realize that the alpha doesn’t appear to have any intention of using anything more than his fingers. That won’t do. Somehow, Peter finds the strength to shove the alpha in the chest and onto his back. The fingers slip out, and that sucks, but Peter straddles the alpha’s hips and that sort of makes up for it. The alpha’s eyes are wide as he stares up at Peter. Peter smiles and somehow gets the alpha’s jeans open, despite his shaky fingers. His cock is so heavy and thick, a truly stereotypical alpha penis right there. Except for the odd texture. Peter groans at the possibility of having a textured penis inside him.

He grinds back on the alpha’s cock, smearing it with his slick and teasing himself. Although, he can’t tease himself for long. Peter isn’t very patient when it comes to sex. He uses one hand to balance against the alpha’s chest while using the other hand to maneuver the cock into the right position. Peter rotates his hips and grinds down on the head, using it to massage his hole open. It doesn’t take long, but Peter knows better than to rush the initial breach. He spares a glance at the alpha, who is staring at Peter in wide eyed shock, before slipping the head inside. He moans loudly, unable to keep quiet. The alpha sucks in a sharp breath, tensing under Peter’s hand. But he doesn't grab Peter.

Peter rotates his hips, moving the cockhead inside him, and watches the alpha's hands curl into fists by his sides. That won’t do, either. And Peter isn’t for teasing. Much. Himself, at least. He can’t help himself, and impales himself on the rest of the alpha’s cock in the next moment. The pleasure that shoots through him is white-hot and blinding, and Peter’s pretty sure he screams as he comes all over the alpha’s chest. He can hear the alpha say, “Holy shit!” and hold onto his hips so he doesn’t fall off.

Peter muscles relax, but he doesn’t slump. He’s trying to remember how to breathe. His muscles are tingling from lingering pleasure. That was probably one of the best orgasms of his life, but Peter only allows himself a moment to enjoy it. The alpha is still hard inside him, and throbbing, so Peter’s waiting for the alpha’s instincts to kick in. Alphas tend to chase their pleasure to the end, despite the state of their partner. Instead of being thrown onto the bed, he feels the alpha’s thumbs rubbing circles into his hipbones. It takes Peter a moment to focus on the alpha’s face again. The alpha is smiling. It’s soft and non-threatening. He's not snarling or growling, and Peter is confused. “There you are, baby boy,” he chuckles and starts to try to lift Peter off him, “Let’s get you some water.”

Peter puts his hands over the alpha’s, and he stops trying to remove him. Peter needs a moment to process this. He flexes his pelvic floor, and, yep, that’s still a very hard cock inside him. The alpha groans and twitches at the movement, but he doesn’t do anything more. He doesn't start thrusting, or moving Peter into a better position to be mounted. He appears to be waiting for Peter to decide what to do, since Peter refused to be taken off his cock. Heat flushes through Peter at the thought. He’s _never_ had this sort of power over an alpha before. Any lethargy he felt evaporates with the surge of power he feels run through him. Peter smiles and he can _hear_ the alpha gulp. He knows that his smile has too many teeth, and it fuels him.

He sits back onto the alpha’s cock, re-sheathing the little amount of cock he was pulled off of. The denim of the alpha’s pants rubs against his ass and the alpha moans, hands going to Peter’s thighs. He's only holding on and Peter feels powerful. All that muscle and strength in the alpha at his mercy underneath him. “I know you can’t think that I’m done with you yet, Mr. Alpha,” Peter says, flexing his pelvic floor again.

“Holy fuck,” the alpha whispers, rolling his hips a little under the sensation. Peter rolls his hips and pleasure sparks through him. It’s almost too much, oversensitivity flirting with the edges of his pleasure, but Peter isn’t going to stop now. No, he knows that tonight is going to be a _very_ fun night, and they’ve only just started.

 


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I debated on stitching this chapter with the next one, but I decided against it. But, that means that I will be uploading the next chapter today. I don't think I have anymore tags to add... sorry for the shortness of it

Peter wakes up and it feels like he’s been buried underground. His muscles ache and are so heavy that Peter wonders if he’ll even be able to move today. He smacks his lips and wonders if he’s ever drank water before in his life. His mouth is so dry. Peter is on his stomach and he turns his head to the other side, trying to find a comfortable position to fall back asleep, but sunlight hits him right on his closed eyes. That isn’t right. The sun doesn’t angle into his room in the morning, or at all. He tries to open his eyes, they feel like they’ve been glued together. The sunlight blinds him. He tries to block the light with his hand, but his muscles are barely listening to him and he smacks himself in the face. “Ugh,” he groans, burying his face into the pillow. It smells like matches and spicy food. He lifts his head enough to look over the pillow, and that isn’t his headboard. He doesn’t have a headboard.

The bed shifts next to Peter and something heavy settles along his back. Peter tenses and snaps his attention to the person lying next to him, ignoring the protest from his brain that he’s moving too damn fast. He comes face to face with an alpha. Peter sucks in a breath, remembering what happened the night before. Or parts of it, since there’s no way he could feel that good. In the morning light, Peter is shocked by the extent of the alpha’s scars. They aren’t disgusting, but they cover every inch of the man. He’s bald and doesn’t even have eyebrows, but he still has an attractive face. Underneath all that scarred skin is great bone structure that wouldn’t be out of place on a magazine cover. Also, Peter can see how well-muscled the alpha is, even if he’s lying on his front.

Peter’s stomach turns when he can’t put a name to the man’s face. He can’t even remember asking for a name, or offering his own. Peter isn’t unaccustomed to one-night stands, having had plenty over the past month and a bit, but this is different. He’s always been cognizant enough to at least give out a fake name. The true anonymity unsettles Peter. He blushes when a memory of taunting the alpha by calling him “Mr. Alpha.” He hides his face in his hands for a moment, breathing and wondering when he became one of ‘those’ omegas. The alpha moves again, and Peter doesn’t have time to ponder his life choices. He needs to get out of here. The last thing he wants to do is fumble through the awkward morning after with this alpha.

He slips out of the bed without disturbing the alpha and starts searching for his clothes. There isn’t a scrap of clothing on his body and his stomach and chest have flakes if dry come on them. He tries to ignore the hand-shaped bruises on his hips and hopes there aren’t bite marks all over his neck. The last thing he needs is to have some sort of reminder of last night for everyone to see. He overlooks how messy the bedroom is, digging through piles of clothes to find his. His shirt and cardigan are tangled together behind a nightstand, while his pants and underwear are in a heap under the foot of the bed. It’s odd that it looks like the clothes were kicked under the bed, since Peter’s pretty damn sure that they never left the bed. He tracks down his shoes, not even bothering with his socks. There’s no way to track down a pair of dirty socks in this mess.

Peter jumps into his pants and underwear, sighing in relief when he can feel his cell phone, wallet and keys still in their respective pockets. He separates his shirt and cardigan, and ducks into his shirt. Something shiny catches the corner of his eye and Peter freezes. Is that a sword?! Peter grabs his cardigan, not bothering to put it on, and he runs out of the apartment. He makes sure that he doesn’t slam the door behind him. He doesn’t want the alpha to wake up and chase him down. It’s happened more times than Peter is comfortable with. Couldn’t alphas take a hint?

He takes a moment outside of the building to catch his breath and put on his cardigan. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Peter looks back up at the building, noting how run-down it looks. He inhales deeply and yells out “Fuck!” on the exhale. It startles some people walking on the street, but they otherwise ignore him. He curls over himself, putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and tries to figure out how his life turned into this. How his life turned into him sneaking away from strange alphas. What would his aunt say? “Shit, fuck,” he curses, forcing himself upright and ignoring how his eyes prickle. He can pretend it’s the morning air, but it’s already warm out.

Peter turns and starts walking down the street. He needs to find the subway so he can go home. The streets aren’t crowded and Peter can sort of orient himself, but he has no idea where he is. He follows his nose to a small coffee shop. Coffee is a necessity to Peter, although it’s slowly becoming a luxury with how much Peter has been skipping work. The shop is very small, with about four tables inside the building and a tiny counter. The menu is short and void of drinks Peter would find at Starbucks. The beta behind the counter sniffs at him and raises his eyebrow in judgement. Peter ignores the look and orders a small, black coffee. Before, Peter liked the sweet, coffee-flavored drinks, but they are generally too expensive and Peter feels like the bitterness of black coffee suits his life better. The beta looks extra unimpressed when Peter pays for his drink entirely in loose change. Peter glares at him, challenging the beta to make a scene about it. Although it couldn’t be called a scene with just the two of them present.

The beta takes the money without comments, beyond moving his eyebrows, and Peter takes out his phone to check the time. Peter winces. It’s already 10 AM. He’s over an hour late for work. There’s a voicemail waiting for him and five missed calls from his work. He rubs his eyes, staving off his tears for a little while longer. He won’t cry in front of this judgmental beta. The beta clears his throat and sets down the coffee on the counter. Peter takes it without a word and leaves without leaving a tip. He doesn’t care; he’s never coming back here.

It doesn’t take him long to find the subway after that. He sips at his coffee and it’s so bitter. Normally, he can choke down black coffee, but it’s too much this morning. He tosses it into a garbage bin after only consuming less than a quarter of it. He tries not to think about the waste of money. It’s easy to push any thoughts about wasting his money when he reads the map and realizes how far he is from home. He feels despair at the realization. How the hell did he get this far out?

He gets on the next train before he can think too much on it. He gets a seat and pulls out his phone to deter anyone from speaking with him. There are some messages from Aunt May and MJ that Peter has been ignoring. They are both asking about Peter’s welfare. Peter can’t bring himself to lie to them, so he’s been ignoring them. He hasn’t spoken to either of them in over a month. Guilt surges through him as he reads Aunt May’s newest message:

 ** _Peter… please just talk to me… I love you_**.

He puts his phone to his forehead and starts crying. The loneliness and emptiness that has been consuming Peter has finally given way to anguish. He can’t control himself, couldn’t stop his sobs even if he tried. This breakdown is long overdue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter may be a little OOC, but he's going through a lot and needs to have a little breakdown.


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i've decided to introduce how Wade wakes up alone and how he copes with that... and give a name to 'the alpha' lol
> 
> sorry it's so short again. I gave Wade his boxes. Inside the {} is yellow and inside [] is white.
> 
> I posted two chapters today! so make sure that you check out Chapter 2 if you missed that!

Wade pats the bed next to him and encounters cold sheets. He squints his eyes open, confused. He swears that the omega he brought home was there a moment ago, but he must have left a while ago. Wade tries to swallow his disappointment. There’s no way he should have expected the omega to stay, as amazing as the sex was. Well, it was amazing for him, it could have been different for the omega. He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling, thinking about that omega. The image of the lithe, brunette omega, hazels eyes on fire, and a stamina that gives Wade a run for his money is burned into his memory. It was sheer, dumb luck that someone like that came home with him in the first place. Hell, since he’s gotten back, he hasn’t been able to get any without paying for it. Even then, it's hit and miss because even prostitutes have standards.

He can’t blame them. All the mirrors in his place are covered, or broken. Wade can’t stand to look at himself. The only thing about his life that hasn’t changed is his libido, and that’s been quite the adjustment. Wade is used to bedding whoever, whenever he desired, be they alpha, beta, or omega. He leaned more towards the omegas, since they were the most receptive to his advances. Alphas were hit and miss (sometimes spectacular misses) and betas tended to be intimidated by him. But, since he’s gotten back, Wade’s had to settle for his right hand (sometimes his left, to spice things up) for company. For social company beyond sex, Wade has the voices. They’re in his head, and loud, but there’s only two of them. Wade knows that two is two too many, but he sometimes needs the company.

He’s always had an inner voice, but he was easy to ignore, but now his ugly insides match his ugly outsides. The voices only seemed to develop a mind of their own after the incident. He squeezes his eyes shut, burning the image of that omega into his brain. Who knows when he’ll have a bed partner again? Who knows when he’ll have a bed partner of that caliber again? But, now that he’s up, the voices are up.

{ _Hey! Hey! Dumbass! Welcome back to reality! How was that piece that we came up for you last night?_ } Yellow taunts, sounding far too happy.

[ ** _He was perfect! Wasn’t he? Too good to be true! What a dream~!_** ]

“He was real,” Wade argues, biting his lip after the words escape him. He knows better than to engage the voices. They know exactly how to torment him, and they don’t hesitate to use it to break him down.

{ _Oh yeah, because a 100 on a scale of 10 would want to have sex with Freddy Kruger's long lost, uglier twin brother. Don’t be a moron._ }

[ ** _He felt so good! So tight!! I’m melting just thinking about it!_** ] Wade agrees silently with that assessment. That omega was something else.

{ _Totally fake!_ } Yellow screeches, and it’s not an attractive tone. { _You’re too damn easy to fool! All I gotta do is think of something that’ll look at you and you’re putty!_ }

“Shut up,” Wade spits, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands. Real or not, Wade wants to bask in the glow for a bit; the glow that the mind-blowing sex from last night promises. The voices will not take his bliss away. He won’t let them. He can't let them.

[ ** _That ass! That scent!_** ] White says wistfully, sounding love sick. [ ** _We should never shower again, so we can bask in his perfect scent!_** ]

Wade is inclined to agree, but Yellow has his own thoughts on that. { _We already shower less than we should. We’re just decomposing flesh anyways. Now, that is an overwhelming scent!_} Wade presses his palms into the sides of his head, squeezing as hard as he can. { _Yeah, that’s going to shut me up. You’re a fucking genius, Wade._ }

He curls his hands into fists, and flinches when there’s a sharp pain in his knuckle on his right hand. It startles him out of his conversation with the voices and he stares at his hand. It’s bruised and Wade feels euphoric. “See! I punched that guy in the face! Last night was real!” He’s smiling.

[ ** _We’re a hero! Saving the pretty omega!_** ] White’s words echo with another voice and Wade frowns in confusion. The voices don’t mimic other voices. Maybe that means that he’ll be welcoming a third voice soon.

{ _Oh, the fact that you punched someone in the face is proof that some pretty little thing came home with you? Grow up. You’re violent, Wade. Probably punched some poor soul for no reason._ } The memory of fiery, hazel eyes flickers in his mind, and he can’t lose it. He buries his face into his pillows, hoping to drown out the voices until the memory of the pretty omega has moved to long term. The sweet, soft scent of omega shocks Wade and silences the voices. At least for a moment. Yellow can’t sigh, but Wade swears that he does { _Okay, you got me._ } Wade preens. { _But don’t go patting yourself on the back. The kid bolted. Saw you in the light of day and got the hell out of dodge._ } Wade tenses. { _How does it feel to be someone’s nightmare? You were inside him! He can never get rid of that._}

[ ** _Hell yeah!_** ]

God. Wade hates himself. He took advantage of that omega. He’s no better than that asshole he knocked out. Wade stepped in so that wouldn’t happen. He covers his mouth with his hand. The omega was _just a kid_. There’s no way he should have been in the bar in the first place. Wade feels like a monster. White keeps on celebrating inside his head, waxing poetic about the omega’s lithe body, and it makes Wade feel dirty. Yellow is cackling, saying "stained" every few minutes so Wade can't forget. Wade can’t drag himself out of bed, so he stays with his face buried in the omega’s scent. Every inhale feels like a crime.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Later, when the moonlight is starting to come inside the open windows, Wade manages to pull himself out of bed. He goes into his kitchen first to find something to eat. Then, he walks around his apartment twice as if he's searching for something. He's filled with anger and disappointment. He's disappointed because he doesn’t have any proof that the omega was here, except for the scent clinging to his bedsheets. There’s no note left, no phone number, no name. He’s angry that he had any expectations. It’s weak and Yellow will use that to his advantage to break Wade down. He stays angry when he crawls back into bed after he’s had something to eat. He didn’t change the sheets (and he knows he won’t) and that’s another weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so Wade isn't in a good place either...
> 
> but yeah, they did not share names at all...


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after??
> 
> About a month has passed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem a bit ridiculous, but bear with me.

The weather after Peter’s walk of shame was cruelly perfect. There were no storms, no heat waves. Only pleasant weather and rain that lasted long enough to cool everything off and leave the air smelling clean. Peter hated it, wishing that everything would be dreary or storming, to match what he's feeling. Three days after his night with that alpha, he tried going out and he couldn’t force himself to sneak past a bouncer. He watched the entrance of a bar, trying to build up his courage and find the perfect moment. But, the only thing he could think of was the pain he felt on his way home from the last time he went out. He did not want to go through that again, so he went home and wallowed in the darkness.

Without drinking as an outlet anymore, Peter tried to get his life back on track. And, if not back on track, at least in the right direction. He went into work and grovelled to his boss. Jameson was surprised to see him, since one of the voicemails that Peter ignored was Peter being fired. He was also understandably irate at the omega. Peter pleaded for his job, trying his best not to cry in front of the man. Jameson is an alpha, who is sort of sexist in the fact that a beta or omega has to prove themselves before he believes them capable. Once capability is proven, he will treat them the same as any alpha, but he'd never doubt an alpha's ability. Peter was one of the better photographers that he has, so he reluctantly gave the omega his job back. He made it very clear that it wasn’t favoritism, but the fact that he hasn’t been able to fill Peter’s position yet. He also made it clear that Peter is on double probation until further notice.

So, Peter was saddled with the pieces were only given to people on Jameson’s shit list. In the office, it’s known as the list Jameson has for when he’s pissed at someone, or wants to bully them into quitting. Peter’s workload filled with photographing the most boring events around the city and writing 300 word fluff pieces that have no business being in a newspaper. Peter took his punishment with grace, not wanting to rock the boat and get fired again. It is frustrating because most of the events Jameson has him photograph don’t even get a photograph in their article. Peter kept his complaints to himself, whining in his head about how unfair Jameson is being. He needs this job; he needs to pay his rent, buy his groceries, and gather his tuition, which is due soon. That is due in a couple weeks, and Peter will be able to make it if he skips food for a couple days.

Today, Jameson has Peter doing another fluff piece. This one is pure garbage and Peter knew as soon as he got it that it was to waste his time. It takes everything Peter has to stay professional. This piece is an interview with an elderly woman about her “psychic cat.” Peter thought Jameson was pranking him, at first, but Jameson's sense of humor is about as funny as a wet blanket. It’s a testament to how pissed he is at Peter, even almost a whole month later.

The woman doesn’t deserve to be part of Peter’s punishment though. Hester Nikelsen is a sweet, old beta, who reminds Peter of his Aunt May. Her hair is cut short, and silver, with a blue tinge to it. She looks to be in good shape and capable, despite how old she claims to be. She reminds him so much of his aunt that it hurts his heart a bit. Hester is full of smiles and warmth, surrounded by a mish-mash of old and new décor and pictures of her loved ones. She also genuinely believes her cat, Captain Butterscotch, can predict the weather. Her eyes sparkle as she describes how her cat is different from every other cat. For the most part, Captain Butterscotch can only tell with certainty when there will be a storm. Captain Butterscotch is sitting in her lap, purring loudly. Peter takes notes, and smiles, not wanting to be the one to crush this lady’s dreams. There is no way Jameson will publish this tripe, even to punish Peter.

Although that this interview is a waste of time, Peter would rather be here than in the office with Jameson breathing down his neck. Hester even has coffee. With Peter saving every penny he can manage, coffee has been cut out. It was a painful decision, but he’ll treat himself when everything is paid. Peter is sitting across from Hester, in an unfortunate pink-polka dot arm chair. A low coffee table sits between them, a serving tray with their coffees and all the fixings sitting on top of it. Beside the tray is a petrified dish of hard candies. Peter prepares his coffee while Hester describes how she and Captain Butterscotch met. It’s cute, but Peter has most of his focus on his coffee. He’s indulging himself by adding more sugar than is probably proper, but he hasn’t had anything sweet in a while. Hester doesn’t bat an eye at his excessive use of sugar. She warned him as she prepared the coffee that it’s weak. The weak coffee led to a pleasant anecdote about Hester's daughter and her crusade to get her mother to switch to decaf. Hester's eye has a twinkle in it as she described her daughter's frustration. Then she went on about Captain Butterscotch and _his_ antics.

It warms something inside Peter to see a little troublemaker inside the older woman. He brings his coffee up to take a sip, but he gets a whiff of it instead. It smells like regular coffee, if a little weak, but the scent turns Peter’s stomach. He sets his cup down on the table, hand over his mouth, gagging. Hester stops her story mid-sentence. “Are you okay, dear?” she asks, concern wrinkling her face.

Peter tries to take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. He gags and grabs the first empty thing he can get his hands on, which turns out to be an empty vase from a bookshelf. He turns his back to Hester in time so she doesn’t see him vomiting into the decoration. It’s nothing but bile. “I’m so sorry,” Peter chokes out when he has a chance to breathe, but heaves again. He drops to his knees over the vase, his throat burning.

He startles when he feels a gentle hand settle between his shoulder blades. It moves in a circle and Peter can feel himself relaxing. “Don’t worry, dear. Let it out,” Hester hushes, her tone gentle. She doesn’t sound upset, and, for that, Peter is grateful.

Peter doesn’t know how long it takes for his stomach to finally settle, but it was too damn long. Hester stays beside him the whole time, rubbing his back and whispering to him. He’s horrified when he sits back up. Hester's hand falls away and Peter misses the comfort her touch gave him. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Nikelsen. I’ll clean this up,” he offers, standing up.

Hester waves him off, “Please don’t worry about that.” She stands up as well, using the chair Peter was sitting in for balance. She gives him a worried look. “Are you okay though? Did you eat something bad? Should I brew you some tea?” Her tone is still gentle and she’s already moving towards her kitchen.

“No, thank you. You don’t have to do that,” he calls after her, but she’s already filling her kettle.

“Nonsense.” She steps into the doorway of the kitchen and points down the hall. “Put that vase in the bathroom, in the bathtub, and sit back down.” She leaves no room for argument, turning back into her kitchen without another word. Peter knows he can’t argue with her. He wanders down the hall, finding the bathroom, and puts the vase into the tub. He stares at the thing for a few moments, tempted to clean it himself, but he knows better than to argue with that tone. There’s also the fact that he has no idea how to start, or if he’d wreck it if he tried to clean it.

So he slinks back to the living room and sits himself in the pink-polka dot chair. Captain Butterscotch jumps into his lap and starts purring. Peter scratches the cat behind his ears, and he purrs louder, his weight settling better in his lap. Hester comes in moments later, a steaming mug in her hand. Peter doesn't think he heard the kettle whistling, but he's still shaken. She gives it to him and takes her own seat. Peter says a soft, “thank you” and tentatively sniffs the drink. The tea is milky looking and smells like peppermint. The scent doesn’t upset his stomach, so he takes a sip. He’s delighted when it settles in his stomach and eases the nausea. “Wow, this is delicious,” he compliments, taking a larger gulp. The warmth settles in his veins and helps him relax. It has the watery, light texture of tea, with the creaminess of warm milk and the bite of sugar that has to be honey.

“Good. I’m glad you like it. Is it helping?” she asks, settling more into her seat. She has a different mug than before and the coffee is nowhere to be found.

Peter blushes. “Yes, thank you. I really am sorry. I can clean your vase, or replace it…” he offers, hoping he won’t have to replace it. He’ll have to ask Aunt May to help him again, and he hasn’t built up the courage to talk to her yet. All he can think about is how disappointed she’d be with him. She’s already buying half his textbooks for him for his birthday. At least, Peter thinks she still is. They agreed on that for a birthday present a while ago, but she could have changed her mind. His stomach sinks, maybe she doesn't want to help him anymore.

“Nonsense,” Hester says, pulling Peter from his spiralling thoughts. “You didn’t do it on purpose, and I can get my son to clean it. He’s coming by later today. And, between you and me, it’s time that tacky thing was replaced, anyways.” She winks at him and Peter smiles at her, guilty that he was so dismissive of her before. She may be misinformed on animals and their instincts, but she’s so much more than a ditsy old lady. “Besides, I’m more worried about you. That came out of nowhere. Did you eat something bad?”

Peter shakes his head, “No. I don’t know what that was.” He’s too embarrassed to admit that the last time he had anything more than a candy bar was yesterday at breakfast. “I’m feeling much better now, also pretty embarrassed,” he admits, blush still on his cheeks.

Hester laughs. “Nothing to be ashamed over. I had four kids and have seven grandchildren. Everyone gets sick every now and then.” Peter chuckles and they settle into an easy silence for a few moments. Hester looks like she’s thinking about something, that mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Maybe that’s it,” she says airily, “You’re pregnant.”

Peter laughs at the absurdity. There’s no way. He hasn’t slept with anyone in about a month, since… that guy. Peter’s face falls and the easiness of the atmosphere evaporates. Hester frowns in concern, but Peter doesn’t notice, he’s too busy doing math in his head. His heat was due… eight days ago. He shakes his head. There’s no way. Didn’t they use a condom? Or twelve? They had sex for the… whole… night. He focuses on Hester again and he smiles, trying to ease that look off her face. His smile feels like his skin isn’t supposed to stretch that way.

With quick movements, Peter puts his mug on the coffee table and lifts Captain Butterscotch off his lap. The movement has the cat digging his claws in, but Peter hardly registers the sting. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” he hands the cat to Hester, but it’s more of a shove, “I’ll call you in the next couple of days to reschedule your interview.”

Hester nods, “Of course, dear. Be safe.” He rushes out of her house without another word, too many thoughts in his head.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Peter stops at the drug store a few blocks from his house. He can’t go to the one down the street from where he lives; he knows people there. They don’t need to know his bad decisions. Or, he thinks that distance might somehow make what he needs to buy less real. The layout of this store is unfamiliar and Peter wanders around, refusing the clerk’s help. He doesn’t want anyone to know about this. He avoids the aisle with baby stuff. He walks through every other aisle twice without finding what he needs. It takes a couple deep breaths for Peter to gather the courage to go down the baby aisle. There, beside some formula and diapers for sale, are the pregnancy tests. Then he stares.

There are so many to choose from. How does he pick one? Does he choose the one with a digital display? The 99₵ one? The $16 one? One that specified for male omegas? Is there that much of a difference? Isn’t it the same hormones? Peter shakes his head. He needs to focus on one thing at a time. How much should he spend on a pee stick? He continues to stare, like the tests might answer his questions. There’s movement out of the corner of his eye and he steels himself in his decision. He grabs a $3 one that is specific to male omegas and rushes to the till, grateful that there isn’t a line. He doesn’t need a reason to talk himself out of buying this.

The cashier looks to be around Peter’s age and she gives him a sympathetic smile, when she sees what he's buying. Peter hates it. He looks at the counter, unable to look her in the eye. He feels stupid, so stupid. The cashier puts the single item into a bag for him and hardly blinks when Peter pays in coins. Her scent smells like pity and it makes Peter's skin crawl. He runs as soon as he has a grip on the handles of the bag and he doesn’t stop until he’s inside his apartment. The trip home is a blur of people yelling and cars honking. He doesn't know if that means that he cut people off (and maybe ran out into traffic), or if it's the ambient noise of the city. He's too rattled to care.

His world comes back into focus when he's panting with his back pressed against his closed front door. The bag sits against his leg and it feels _so_ heavy. Now that Peter’s stopped, he feels like he can’t move another step. He looks at his apartment, trying to find anything to distract himself from the weight against his leg. The place isn’t messy, but it could be cleaned. From where he's standing, he can see his dishes from yesterday’s breakfast are still in the sink, his bed is unmade in the corner, and his books are everywhere. Yes, cleaning. Peter steps away from the door, his knees feeling like there's sand in his joints. He goes into the kitchen first, throwing the plastic bag onto the table and moving to the sink.

He starts with the dishes, making sure that they're clean and starts putting them away. Then, he wonders the last time that he cleaned these cupboards. So, he pulls all his dishes out, sorts through them and cleans the ones that have a small layer of dust on them. Then he organizes the cupboards. He does the dishes and assorted kitchen accessories first, then he cleans out his pantry. After he cleans every cupboard, he scrubs the counters. They sparkle, and Peter decides that his oven needs to be cleaned. He makes a note that he should clean the floor, but he can do that at the same time that he cleans the living room.

Kitchen clean, Peter turns his attention to his living area. He has a studio, so his bed is tucked into a corner with a small dresser. The small space is separated by the area rug on the floor. Peter tackles his bed first, pulling his duvet off and taking it to the fire escape to air it out. He leaves it out there while he pulls his sheets off his bed and fits clean ones on it. The dirty sheets are thrown into a corner, for now. He grabs the duvet and lays it out on the bed, making it for the first time in a month. Then he cleans underneath his bed, finding on of his favorite shirts and a shoe.

The living room is next. He organizes his bookshelves, picking up the books he has spread out around his apartment. His tiny DVD collection gets put into a neat little stack beside his TV stand. The TV gets dusted, along with his gaming system. He sorts his video games by release date, then again by name. He cleans out the couch cushions, finding some more change for his savings. That led him to moving his couch and deciding that he should clean the floors now.

When he went to get the broom and mop, Peter spotted the shower cleaner. He stares at the cleaner for a second, debating if he should clean his bathroom too. He grabs the cleaner and disappears into the bathroom. That room took some time; he scrubs at his shower until the stall looks a few shades lighter. His sink and toilet receive the same treatment. Then he grabs the broom and sweeps every inch of his place. He's not messy, but the amount of dust that he collects is shocking. Mopping doesn't take long enough, but leaves the place smelling like lemons. He collects all the garbage and puts his dirty sheets in his laundry basket. It's getting a little full, so he should start saving up so he can go to the laundromat.

He only stops when there’s nothing left for him to do. The garbage is beside the door, his dirty clothes are neatly tucked into his basket. His apartment is sparkling. It's cleaner than when he moved in, but it doesn’t fill Peter with pride like it should. Instead he’s filled with dread, because the only thing out of place is the plastic bag on the table. He's been avoiding the table, so it could be wiped down.

He goes to the kitchen sink, grabs a large glass of water and chugs two full glasses, and then turns to the plastic bag. He feels grimy and sweaty and debates on showering first, but he can't look away from the bag. There’s no more stalling, his brain decides. Damn him. He pulls the test out of the bag and sits at the table before he can change his mind. The bag falls to the floor. The box is a generic white, with some stylish silver lines, and bold, black letters that say: " **First Response: Male Omega**." In smaller print, it states: " **Effective up to one week before expected heat**." Peter laughs. He’s already a week late. _It's just a box_ , he tells himself, ignoring how his hands are shaking.

Tears prickle at his eyes, but he doesn’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about now. There’s nothing to cry about, period. He rips open the box, destroying the thing in the process, and pulls out the pamphlet instructions and spreads it over the table like a map. He only has one test; he’s going to make sure that he’s doing this right. He's not still stalling.

The instructions are simple and disgustingly peppy. The line " **…if test is positive, be sure to make an appointment with an omegestrician for your bundle of joy :)** **"** makes Peter want to throw himself into the sun. Why do they always assume that omegas are happy with these results? Where's the cold, hard science of pregnancy?

The instructions are straightforward, if you look past the blatant optimism; pee on stick, and wait 3 minutes for results. One line is negative, two lines is positive. Simple, easy, and he already has to pee. Good stuff. He stands and goes into the bathroom, as ready as he’ll ever be.

He unzips his pants before he notices that he doesn’t have his pee stick. He curses under his breath and goes back into the kitchen. The stick is sitting on the table, unassuming, and Peter hates it. He snatches it off the table and goes back into the bathroom. His phone is already on the counter, three minutes set on the timer. All he has to do is press the button. Okay. He can do this.

He unzips his pants again, taking deep breaths as he does so. There’s some fumbling while he gets the stick in a good position. It would have been easier for him to be sitting (he recalls that the instructions recommend sitting), but he can’t change positions, otherwise he’ll have to psyche himself up again. He closes his eyes and tries to relax enough to pee. After about a minute, Peter hears splashing water. He opens his eyes and aims the stream so it lands on the right part of the pee stick. He curses when some pee misses the toilet and lands on the floor. He just cleaned those floors.

Once the end of the stick he’s peed on is soaked, he sets it next to the sink and finishes off. He starts the timer before he flushes, needing to get that going before he forgets. He closes the lid and sits down, staring at the wall. He can’t look at the test, or watch time run out. God, three minutes and everything will change. Too many thoughts about ‘what if?’ fill his brain that they drown each other out. For once, his mind is silent.

He’s startled when the timer goes off. He fumbles with his phone, trying to turn off that noise, and takes at least another minute to compose himself. _Just look_ , he tells himself, _it’s nothing. Going to be nothing. Just do it._ He inhales twice and grabs the test before he loses his nerve. With it in his hands, it’s easy to maneuver it until he can see the display. The test creaks under Peter’s grip.

Two lines.

Any air Peter has in his lungs leaves him. He blinks a couple times, in case he’s seeing things, but nothing changes. He runs into the kitchen, test in his hand. There’s no way. He read the instructions wrong. He tears at the pamphlet until he finds the **Results** heading. He can’t be—

There, in black and white, with a helpful little illustration, Peter reads " **Two solid lines=positive, as shown above in image 2**." His legs give out under him and he drops to his knees. He curls over until his forehead is against the ground. Peter doesn’t stop the tears this time. He sobs; he wails. There's no stopping his feelings this time. The only thing in Peter's mind is a wish that his aunt was here with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this may seem a bit dramatic, but Peter is only 18, and I remember feeling things more acutely at that age. Sorry to be so cruel to him.
> 
> i also gave him my procrastination method of cleaning everything until i have to face whatever I was trying to avoid. Also, I know nothing about pregnancy tests, so I've taken some liberties and I'm sorry i kept on referring to them as "pee sticks" but they are.


	5. FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter doesn't know what to do next.
> 
>  
> 
> So he goes for some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! i've got another chapter done! I wrestled with this one a bit! But I think it's ready! It's a little intense, because Peter is still breaking down, so tread carefully. I'm not sure if the tags need to be added. 
> 
> We finally get a certain aunt! I love her so much, but I see her as the one from the Ultimate Spiderman TV series as well. Love her characterization in that one and that's where I'm getting a lot of her personality (or at least how I interpreted it from the TV show).

Peter comes back to himself slowly. He notices the test in his hand first; he’s staring right at it. Then, it's his head. It hurts; there’s a headache that’s starting right behind his eyes and radiating outwards. His eyes feel puffy and swollen. His throat feels raw and his mouth is dry. Then he feels how sore he is, like he hasn’t moved for a long time. He sits up and it feels like he’s peeling himself up off the floor. His head feels too heavy for his neck and everything hurts. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his forehead on his knees, waiting out the wave of pain.

Once Peter can lift his head, he looks to the clock. He is horrified to see that it’s 8 o’clock. He finished cleaning around 5. At least, 5 is the latest he can remember. Everything after the test is a numb blur. He tries to stand, using the table to keep his balance. His knees shake under him, but he’s able to get upright.

For now, he ignores the instructions and empty box in the table, and staggers to the sink. His glass from earlier is still in the sink, so he fills it and sips at it. He stares into the sink as he drinks. The water helps a bit, easing the headache and soothing his throat. He wonders if he was screaming, his throat feels so raw. _What should I do now?_ Peter asks himself, eyes fixed on the drain of his sink.

He leaves his glass next to the sink, only half-empty, and heads for his front door. He’s still wearing his clothes from earlier, a loose, black long sleeve, dark jeans, and red sneakers. He grabs his jacket off its hook, his phone and keys off the table near the door, and walks out. He’s not sure where he’s going, but he knows that he needs to move. As he locks the door, he checks to make sure that he has his wallet. It’s in his back pocket. He locks the door and walks away.

Peter doesn’t know what happens next, but he comes back to himself as he’s knocking on a door. This door is familiar and a wave of panic rushes through Peter. The door opens before Peter can run away. “Peter?” Aunt May asks, her blue eyes bright with hope. She looks the same. Her silver hair is cut into the same stylish bob, she’s in good shape, and short enough that Peter has to look down to make eye contact. She's wearing an old knit sweater that Peter remembers seeing as he's grown up. She even smells the same, like lilacs and laundry detergent and like _home_.

Guilt sweeps through him at the dark circles under her eyes and the sound of hope in her voice. That isn't what has Peter crumbling though, it's how Aunt May reminds him of _home_. He starts crying without saying a word, leaning towards her, but not touching. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask her for comfort after the way he’s been acting. Aunt May doesn’t hesitate though; she pulls Peter into a hug, pushing his face right into her neck, where her scent is the strongest. Peter inhales and slumps into her hold, sobs breaking free from his chest.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, voice watery. Peter wraps his arms around her, holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth. Aunt May might be smaller than him, but he feels safe in her arms. He might never let go of her. And she’s holding on just as tight.

They cry until Peter exhausts himself. He starts leaning on her enough that she stumbles under his weight. They untangle from their hug, but they don’t let go of each other. Aunt May tucks herself under Peter’s arm, helping navigate him through the house. She leads him upstairs and tucks him into his childhood bed. He collapses onto the mattress and falls asleep to Aunt May pulling a blanket up to his shoulders. There’s still a heaviness in his heart, but it's nothing like it was this morning.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Peter wakes up with a headache splitting his brain in half and his mouth drier than the Sahara. His eyes are crusty, like someone glued them shut, and they are sore. He has to take a moment to remember where he is. This isn’t his lonely, little studio apartment. It’s his old room. It looks the same, but cleaner. He can see the outlines of his awards and the shadows of his posters on the walls. Peter sits up and waits for the panic to set in. It’s there, but it’s in the back of his mind.

There’s no sunlight coming in the windows, so Peter hasn’t been asleep for long. He still feels so tired, but he won’t be able to sleep unless he gets some water. In the hallway, it eases something inside Peter to see that this house hasn't changed much. Sure, it's only been about two months, but it feels like he hasn't been home for years. It settles something deep in Peter’s chest. He feels safe here. In this house, he feels like Aunt May can take care of all his problems. The lights are still on, and Peter can hear someone moving downstairs. One part of Peter wants to hide, unwilling to face his aunt after how he’s been acting. Another, bigger, part of him wants to see his aunt. It’s the same part that’s terrified about everything, the part that needs his aunt to make everything better.

He heads towards the noise, quieter than he’s ever been in this house. The stair that had always creaked under Peter when he tried sneaking out in high school, doesn’t make a sound. His shoes aren’t on his feet and his socks muffle his movements as he shuffles across the hardwood. Aunt May must have taken his shoes off for him, since Peter is pretty sure that he wore shoes here. He stops in the entry way to the kitchen, watching Aunt May putter around. She's making sandwiches and pouring juice. She looks lighter than when Peter collapsed into her arms, like something heavy has been lifted off her shoulders.

She doesn’t see him right away, so Peter has a minute to worry. Will she be upset with him? Will she yell? Kick him out? He deserves it. He hasn’t spoken to her in almost two months, and he shows up on her doorstep unannounced and breaks down in her arms. Peter would be so angry if someone ignored him until they hit rock bottom. He wants to turn around and crawl back into his bed, putting off this confrontation until never, but he's hoping that she'll make everything better. Aunt May moves to the coffee machine, grabbing the coffee grounds as she approaches it. "Don't," Peter says, before he can stop himself. He doesn't want a repeat of what happened with Hester.

She jumps in surprise, but abandons the machine, rushing over to him. “Peter,” she pauses, just out of arms reach, like she’s unsure if she’s welcome to hold him. Peter’s throat clenches at that. “How are you feeling?” she asks, folding her hands together, as if she is holding herself back.

Peter doesn’t want her to be afraid of touching him, but he doesn’t know how to begin to tell her that. He has no idea how to start telling her how much he's missed her. So, he goes with the easier answer. “Thirsty,” he tells her. At least it's the truth. His voice cracks with his answer and he realizes how _raw_ his throat is.

Aunt May grabs the juice she poured out, and holds it out to Peter. “Drink this.” She doesn't make that sound like a command. She sounds worried about him.

The juice is gone in two huge gulps. He ignores how the sugar in it makes his stomach uneasy. Aunt May grabs the empty glass and turns, like she might refill it. Peter grabs onto her wrist before she's out of reach. She gives him a worried look, but stops. He needs to tell her before he changes his mind. “I have to tell you something.” His voice is so solemn. She tenses and her eyes fill with concern. Peter hates seeing her like this, but he can’t tell her it’s nothing serious. “I think I’m pregnant,” he rushes out. His throat closes after the words are out and he can't bring himself to say anything else.

Peter forces himself to watch his aunt as he tells her. He needs to know exactly what she’s feeling. Her eyes widen in shock, and he can hear a sharp inhale, but there’s no anger. After a moment of shock, her face softens and she puts the empty glass in her hand onto the counter. She reaches up and cradles his head in her hands, her touch soft. “Oh Peter,” she sighs, voice full of maternal worry. Peter exhales, gasping, not realizing that he was holding his breath. Relief courses through him with every inhale. She pulls him into another hug, her arms resting around his shoulders. One of her hands brushes through the hair at the back of his neck. It calms him and he slumps into her embrace, returning the hug loosely. Tears start pool in the corners of his eyes and fall down his face without a sound.

Aunt May pulls back before Peter’s ready, but she doesn’t let go of him. She's only far enough away to look him in the eye. “Let’s sit down, come on,” she urges, pulling him back into the living room and sitting him down on the couch. She doesn't say anything about the tear tracks on Peter's cheeks. They sit next to each other and Aunt May is holding onto Peter’s hand tightly. “Tell me everything.” Her tone is still so soft, urging him to comply instead of demanding him to.

Peter wipes at the wetness on his face angrily with his free hand, upset that he’s crying again. “You’re gonna think I’m an idiot…”

“No,” Aunt May insists immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not an idiot, Peter.” The way she says it sounds like she’s stating an absolute truth, like water’s wet, or the sun’s bright. “I will never, ever think that," she promises, "Just take your time and tell me what you want to tell me. I won’t push you.”

Peter stares into her eyes, trying to find lies, but he can see only sincerity. “Okay,” he nods, taking a deep breath and trying to figure out where he should start. There’s so much that he’s done that he doesn’t want Aunt May to know, but he can't keep it all from her. He knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier to get the story out. “I—uh—haven’t been doing well since Gwen.” A lump forms in his throat and cuts off the rest of his words. That’s a bit of an understatement. Since Gwen, Peter has been an absolute wreck.

“I—I, I couldn’t, just, deal with what happened,” he continues, tears starting to fall again and his voice wavering. Aunt May stays silent, but tightens her grip on Peter's hand for support. She waits for Peter to collect himself. It takes a few minutes of deep breathing, Peter squeezes her hand back, gathering courage for what he needs to tell her next. “I snuck into bars, clubs, whatever, getting drunk or high. I know what I did wasn’t right," he says quickly, as if he's pre-empting a lecture from his aunt, "but everything hurt and I wanted it to stop. I wanted to forget how to feel… and… about a month ago...” He takes another deep breath and Aunt May squeezes his hand again. “I woke up in some alpha’s bed and… I just couldn’t be there. This alpha’s life was a mess, and I saw what would happen if I kept on doing what I was doing.” Peter didn’t think that at the time, but that epiphany came later every time he wanted to go out again. At first, it was humiliation that he turned into a slut. “After that, I focused on stuff I needed to do, because I was not paying attention to anything important. I barely went into work, and when I did, I was so hungover that I was useless. Jameson actually fired me, but I was able to get my job back. I just… didn’t want to wake up one day and realize that I’d turned into that alpha.” He stops talking, unsure of what he should say next.

“Peter,” Aunt May whispers after Peter’s been silent for a while.

“And I couldn’t let myself turn into that omega!” Peter says, louder than necessary and cutting off anything Aunt May would say, but he needs to get it out. “I couldn’t let myself be that _omega_. The one that you hear about all the time on the news, or on those documentaries. I didn't want to be someone's cautionary tale." Peter stops again for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he speaks again, it's much softer, "What would Uncle Ben think? What would you think? I didn’t want to be a disappointment, so I tried so hard to get everything right.” Peter’s breath hitches. “And now I’m pregnant…”

“Oh, Peter,” Aunt May murmurs, holding Peter’s hand tighter, “I’m so sorry...” Her knuckles are white, she's holding onto him so firmly, but Peter can barely feel her.

Peter gives a watery laugh and shrugs, “It’s not your fault. It’s my own dumb fault.” He can't look away from their hands.

“Hey now,” her voice is firm, “You’re not dumb. You’ve done dumb things. You’re only human, Peter. Everyone does something dumb in their lives, and people do crazy things when they’re grieving.” Peter forces himself to look at her and her eyes are so full of love that Peter can’t deal with it. He stares at their hands again. “What happened with Gwen was horrible, and you were not allowed to grieve her properly. And that’s not your fault, Peter. We’re allowed to feel sad, or angry, or scared, but it can’t control you.”

“I’m just… so lost…” he admits, unable to think of anything else to convey what's going on inside his head.

“That’s okay, Peter,” she assures him, gripping his hand in both of hers. She has as relieved smile on her face, “You’ve done a good thing today. You’ve reached out and admitted that you’re lost. I am here for you, Peter. I will always be here for you, and I will always be proud of you. What happens next is that we take everything one day at a time.” A wave of gratitude rolls through Peter and it overwhelms him. He starts to cry again, leaning towards her, but falling short. Aunt May tucks him under her chin and rubs his back. “Right now, we get you something to eat and some water. Then, we sleep. Then, we’ll figure out tomorrow. Do you have work?”

Peter shakes his head, sniffling. “No." She nods and Peter can't help but ask, "How are you so calm?”

Aunt May kisses the side of his head and he can feel her smile against his temple. It's small, but that smile relaxes him a bit. “I am so happy that you’re here now. It’s been a long few weeks, and, now, I know you’re safe and that’s all that matters to me. Maybe I’ll freak out later," she admits, but doesn't stop, "but I’m so relieved that you’re here. You're safe, Peter." She wraps him in another hug, this one tighter than the others. "Everything else I can handle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes! go Aunt May! She's just gonna be super supportive of her favorite nephew and I'm so excited! I don't think I specified, but Aunt May is a beta. I don't know if it ever came up.


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this took a while, but it took a bit for me to get everything out and I realized that i'm going to have to do way more research about this stuff... It's still my own world, so the medicine and stuff is a mix of "hell yeah I researched this" and hand-wavey "just trust me... i swear i know what I'm doing"... it's probably quite easy to tell lol... anyways..
> 
> I also thought very hard about this chapter because this is a very pro-choice mindset... so abortion is discussed as a viable option to Peter's situation... there is nothing explicit described about the procedure (or discussion of the procedure beyond how long into a pregnancy an abortion will be performed) or anything like that, but the consequences are at least thought about. Peter is still deciding at this point! I hope I'm conveying that well!

In the morning, Peter feels _better_. It’s weird. He feels lighter, like he can breathe easier. His head still aches a bit, and his eyes feel raw, but he can handle it. He didn’t realize how much he’s been carrying until it’s gone. Peter knows that a lot of it has to do with Aunt May. It means everything to him to know that she’s standing beside him through this, no matter what. His problems don’t seem as earth-shattering today as they did yesterday. Aunt May hasn’t treated him different, beyond watching him like he may disappear at a moment’s notice.

Before they went to bed, she made sure to feed him and get him lots of water, like she does every time he comes over. She also rambled on about everything she’s been doing lately, which clubs she’s signed up for, or what she enjoys. It felt so normal.

He rolls over and the movement jostles his bladder. There’s no use in putting off getting up. This has to be dealt with. He rolls out of bed and tosses on his long sleeve from the day before, not bothering with his pants. The hallway is empty, but Peter can smell eggs and toast. Aunt May must already be up. Peter does his business and goes downstairs to the kitchen. Aunt May is moving around the kitchen again, humming to herself. Her eyes are brighter than they were last night. Peter feels guilty, remembering the achingly hopeful look Aunt May had when he showed up on her doorstep last night. He knows that he’s going to try everything he can so she never looks like that again.

Peter doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve someone like Aunt May in his life. She isn’t even angry with him for not talking to her for a couple months and reappearing when his life is in shambles. “Good morning, Peter,” she greets, bright smile on her face. She empties her frying pan of scrambled eggs onto a plate on the counter. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better,” he says, voice cracking. He sits at the breakfast bar. Aunt May puts the food she finished plating in front of him. It’s a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. A glass of orange juice is quick to follow. “Thanks, Aunt May.”

Her smile brightens and she collects her own breakfast. It’s the same as Peter’s, but she has a small mug of coffee to go with hers. The coffee is far enough away that Peter can’t smell it. She doesn’t sit next to him. Instead, she stays standing across from Peter. Peter tucks into his meal, a little emotional because he can’t remember the last time he’s had a warm breakfast. Or so much breakfast. He can feel Aunt May watching him eat, like he may disappear if she looks away. Peter doesn’t mind; there’s still a part of him that wants to disappear. “I’ve made you an appointment with my doctor today,” she tells him softly. Peter tenses, breakfast turning to ash in his mouth. “I know we should find an omegastrician," she continues airily, "but my doctor should be enough to confirm the pregnancy and make sure that everything’s okay so far.”

Peter pushes his plate away, not hungry anymore. “No,” Aunt May says, pushing the plate back towards him, “Eat everything. Pregnant or not, you are too damn skinny.”

“How are you so okay with this?” Peter asks, before he can think better of it. “I mean, I drop out of your life and show up dumb and pregnant and all you do is give me hugs and food!” Peter’s voice has becomes more shrill as he talks. He knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he can't stop himself. “Where’s the disappointment? The sex talk? Or the rant about me throwing away my future!?”

He’s gasping by the end of his tirade. Aunt May grabs his hand and Peter tenses, preparing himself for the harsh words that he knows he deserves to hear from her. His breathing picks up and he starts hyperventilating. He grabs onto Aunt May’s hand with both of his, like he could float away if he doesn’t, needing something to anchor him. “Breathe,” Aunt May soothes, slowing down her own breathing so Peter can mimic her. It takes a few minutes, but once Peter’s breathing calms down, Aunt May speaks. “I’m not going to lie, Peter, I am upset, but not with you. I am upset _for you_. You’re so young and you shouldn’t have to make the tough decisions you’re going to have to make. I can’t make them for you, no matter how much I wish I could.” Peter finally looks at her, and she’s giving him a sad smile. “You are not dumb; I told you so last night,” she states firmly fire in her eyes. Then her face softens on the edges, a playful smirk stretching her lips, “And I doubt you need the sex talk again. You seem to be well-versed in sex already.”

Peter’s face flushes, “Aunt May!”

She laughs at him, and it eases weight off Peter’s heart. The smile morphs into something more serious, but there’s still a twinkle in her eye. “And you only throw away your future yourself. Being pregnant is not the end of the world and there are so many options for omegas nowadays.” She pauses, looking to be gathering her thoughts. “The doctor may have more information, and I’m trying not to sway your decision, but there is the option where you don’t…”

Peter waits for her to finish, confused by the half-formed thought, then it clicks. “Oh.”

She nods. “Yes, ‘ _oh_.’ But it’s your decision Peter. It’s your life and your body. I will support your decision no matter what. And I am proud of you, no matter what. And that won’t change with whichever decision you make.”

Peter stares at his aunt for a few minutes, unsure of what to tell her. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits, deflating.

Aunt May squeezes his hands. “You have time. Not a lot of time, but time. Ask questions, be informed. Make the right decision _for you_.”

“What if I don’t? What if I mess up?”

“You’re going to make mistakes,” she assures him, “You’re only human, but that doesn’t mean that you’ve messed everything up. It’ll be hard, but life isn’t easy.” She takes a deep breath. “But it’s worth it. We’ll figure everything out as we need to and I’ll help you however I can. Okay?”

Peter swallows back some tears and nods, “Okay… Thank you Aunt May.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Peter manages to choke down the rest of his breakfast and an apple that Aunt May cuts up for him. Actually getting ready to go to the doctor is nerve-wracking, to put it lightly. Peter helps Aunt May clean up from breakfast and disappears to his room to get ready. He ends up putting on the jeans he wore the night before and sitting on his bed, thinking. The appointment isn’t until the afternoon, so all Peter has is time to think about what he’s going to do.

What is he going to do? Isn’t that the million dollar question? A million thoughts run through his head. Can he even raise a child? He barely has time to make sure that he eats everyday (minus the days where he purposely ignores his hunger pains to save some money). That’s no environment to raise a child. A kid can’t skip meals, or they shouldn’t.

He flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as more questions rush through his head. What about schools? Pre-school and elementary and high school. Oh god. College. College is expensive, and the price is only going to climb. What about Peter’s life? He can’t buy alcohol yet, can he really take care of a child? The kid will always come first. Can Peter focus the next 18 years of his life raising the kid, and then supporting that kid for the rest of his life? Could he do it alone?

Well, he wouldn’t be alone. Aunt May would help as much as she could. What about the alpha? Should Peter tell him? Could Peter even find him again? He rubs at his eyes, pushing back the tears of frustration. That alpha didn’t look to be in a place where a child is a good idea. The state of his apartment was a health hazard. He had weapons out in the open! Should Peter even consider the alpha if he decides to keep the baby? Introducing that kind of instability would not be smart. Peter puts a hand over his stomach, like he can settle it from the outside.

Peter's mind floods with images of the alpha dropping a baby. Then of him dropping a baby. In his mind, the baby is as slippery as an oiled pig. In another situation, Peter might find his mental images hilarious. He's too scared to think that anything else would happen. Peter pushes that idea to the back of his head, considering other options. _There’s always adoption_ , Peter thinks, his stomach turning. He needs to think about all his options, even if it makes him queasy. _Adoption would be hard_ , he admits to himself. He can’t imagine nurturing his child for nine months and then giving them away without looking back. Peter winces. He knows the adoption process isn’t what Hollywood makes it look like. It isn't as dramatic, but he’s not thinking rationally. Another image pops into Peter's head: him throwing a baby into a crowd of parents, letting them fight over who gets to keep them. It's brutal. Peter shakes his head. He is not thinking straight at all.

That thought reminds him of the mental side of pregnancy. Forget that his body will be changed _permanently_ , he will get cravings, mood swings, and pregnancy brain. Peter is by no means stupid, but he has some crazy thoughts. Case in point, the last two images of him dealing with the baby. That's only going to get crazier the longer his brain marinates in hormones. There is the option where he doesn’t go through with the pregnancy. He’s young. No one would think too poorly of him if he got an abortion (although it’s none of anyone’s business but his). This whole thing would be reduced to a dumb mistake, a footnote in Peter's past. This way, he wouldn’t have to consider that alpha. He could also put his focus back into school and he wouldn’t have to sustain the pregnancy. He wouldn’t have to spend money on appointments, vitamins, and whatever else he’ll need to be pregnant. Life could go on uninterrupted. He curls into a ball on his side, not wanting to think about it anymore.

All his options make him feel queasy. There’s no easy answer. Each option has good and bad sides, reasons for Peter to do and reasons for Peter to not do it. What’s right? Is any answer right? Peter tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, but it hurts. He shuts his eyes, willing his problems to disappear. It’s too much to think about.

\----------------------------------------------------

He must have fallen asleep because Aunt May is shaking him awake for lunch. She doesn’t force him to eat too much, but she does make sure that he eats something. They don’t talk about _it_ again. Aunt May is giving Peter his space. His nap has reset him and he feels numb again. All that ease he felt in the morning has faded. His thoughts are looping around all the cons for the options he has. He does as he’s directed, but he doesn’t do anything more. Aunt May has to tell him to brush his teeth and put on his shoes.

The car ride to the doctor’s office is quiet, save for Aunt May’s attempts at engaging Peter in some small talk. Words seem too heavy for him though. He opens his mouth a couple of times to respond, but any words are caught in his throat. The doctor’s office is nice enough, combined with a walk-in clinic and the waiting room is about half-full. Someone is sniffling, another is coughing. Some are flipping through the dated magazines, or glued to their phones. There’s a small group of children tucked into a corner, playing with the waiting room toys. Peter’s chest tightens at the sight. Could he do it? An image of a deathly ill child pops into his head and it turns Peter's stomach. He sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the room while Aunt May checks him in. The children are laughing and Peter has to cover his ears. Aunt May sits next to him and puts her hand on his knee.

Peter doesn’t know how long it takes, but Aunt May is squeezing his knee and standing up. He follows her into a room and sits on the table without a word. The paper crinkles underneath him. Aunt May sits in a chair next to the door with her purse in her lap. She has a small, encouraging smile on her face and Peter can’t look at it. He stares at the clock instead, watching the seconds tick by.

It takes about 20 minutes for the doctor to show up. He’s six feet tall, with styled, brown hair, sharp, green hair, and dark facial hair that reminds Peter of Tony Stark, but it's not exactly the same style. He smells like an alpha, but it’s muted, like he’s wearing a scent blocker. It also smells older, like it may be saturated through his clothes. “Hello, Peter,” he greets the omega, voice posh and nose in the file the nurse left for him, “My name is Dr. Strange.”

“Dr. Stranger?” Peter echoes, not believing that he heard the man right. His throat clicks. It's the first thing he's said since he's woken up.

Aunt May’s face gets a tight look, like Peter is being rude, but she doesn’t say anything. “Yes, Dr. Strange,” he confirms, smile on his face. He sits on a rolling stool and snaps the file shut. “So, you’re here for a pregnancy test.” Peter looks at the floor.

“Yeah…” Peter nods.

“Okay. I’m just going to perform a quick check up, check your heartrate and breathing.” He tosses the file onto his desk and stands up, moving his stethoscope into his ears. He moves the flat end to Peter’s chest and looks at his watch. Peter doesn’t know what he should be doing. After about a minute, Dr. Strange breaks the silence. “Breathe in for me.” Peter does. “And out.” Peter exhales. “Again,” he orders. Peter does and the doctor hums in satisfaction. “Okay, good. Everything sounds good.”

He gets the file from the desk and flips it open, taking a pen from his pocket and writing something on the paper. “So, you want a confirmation of pregnancy?” he asks, like he’s making sure that’s what Peter is really here for. It’s almost like the doctor doesn’t believe him.

Peter’s face heats. “Yeah… I mean… My heat’s late…”

The doctor’s face softens. “It’s okay. I’ll get a nurse to come and collect some blood, but I have some questions first. Just answer them honestly, okay?” Peter nods. “You say your heat’s late, when did you expect it?”

Peter looks to his aunt, like she could answer for him. “You are 18, Peter. If you want, your aunt can wait in the waiting room,” Dr. Strange assures him.

Peter shakes his head. “No, I need her here.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m about eight days late.”

“So you expected your heat on the 18th?” Peter nods. He ticks something off in the file. “You've already taken a home test?"

"Yeah... it was positive."

Another tick. "Okay. How regular are your heats?”

“Almost like clockwork. Every twelve to thirteen weeks.”

Another tick. “Are you on any form of birth control?”

Peter’s face heats again. “No. It’s too expensive.”

Dr. Strange nods and ticks something off in the file. “Do you have a guess to how far along you may be?”

Peter shrugs. “A month? No less than three weeks.”

“Okay, good.” Dr. Strange scribbles some more. There’s a few minutes where the only sound is the scratch of pen on paper, then Strange is snapping the file shut again. “Alright. Now I’m going to give you some information on what’s going to happen. Four weeks is a little early for an ultrasound. At least a transabdominal one. The fetus would be too small to register through the wall of the abdomen. If you really wanted an ultrasound, we could do a transvaginal one.”

Peter here’s ‘vaginal’ and shakes his head. Dr. Strange chuckles. “I know it sounds a little scary and I don’t blame you. There’s a probe and it’s a little intimidating.” Peter shakes his head harder. “Okay. The blood results should be in in a couple of days, and it’ll be able to date conception better.” He pulls out a notepad and starts writing on it. “I’m giving you the number of an omegastrician. He’s very good. Quiet and competent. I recommend booking an appointment with him within the next two weeks. I also recommend that you start taking some pre-natal vitamins.” He scribbles some more. “I’m giving you a list of over the counter brands that are quite good.”

He rips the piece of paper off the pad and hands it to Peter. There’s a lot of information on it, but not all the information Peter wants. “What if I don’t want to keep it?” Peter asks. The doctor’s face flickers with something. It’s too quick for Peter to decipher what it means. He turns to his desk and starts rummaging through the drawers before anyone can say anything.

Peter looks to Aunt May. Her knuckles are white on her bag and her lips are pressed into a straight line. She's watching the doctor with a careful eye. Her anger helps Peter. She won’t let the doctor guilt Peter into anything. “Here it is,” Dr. Strange says under his breath and turns back to Peter, wrinkled pamphlet in hand. His face is serious, but his eyes are full of compassion. “This is the clinic I recommend if you decide to terminate or go through the adoption process.”

Peter looks at the pamphlet. It says ' _Omega Assistance Clinic_ ' printed in white font on a soft, lilac background. “This organization has a lot of information that is unbiased about abortion and adoption. The addresses of their clinics are in there. The doctors there are discreet and professional. They can terminate until the end of your first trimester. They also have counsellors that will be better suited to answer your questions and offer support. They also have a lot of information about pregnancy and support groups.”

He’s not looking at Peter like he’s a monster. “Thank you, Dr. Strange,” he sighs, feeling a little lighter, taking the pamphlet.

He smiles, gentle and understanding. “No problem, Peter. Stay informed, ask questions. I still recommend that you book the appointment with the omegastrician, just so it’s on the books. He has a very generous cancellation policy, so don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Peter says again, unable to convey how grateful he is for the doctor.

“I also recommend that you talk to someone at the Omega Assistance Clinic, regardless of what you choose. Regular doctors will give you facts and this organization is good for giving omegas support." Peter nods. "Do you have any more questions?” he asks, relaxing like has nowhere else to be.

“No. Thank you.”

“Excellent. The nurse should be by shortly to get your bloodwork, Good luck, Mr. Parker,” he bids, standing up. He nods to Aunt May. “Nice to see you again, May.”

“Thank you, Dr. Strange,” she says, relieved smile on her face. Dr. Strange exits, leaving Peter and Aunt May alone. “How are you feeling?” she asks, leaning forwards in her seat, but not getting up. Peter’s glad. He’s not sure he could handle it if she gave him a hug.

“Better,” Peter admits and winces. He's been saying that a lot. Is his life reduced to only feeling 'better,' not feeling 'good?' He flips the pamphlet over in one hand, skimming over the information, and ignoring the omegastrician information in the other. “But I still have no idea what I’m going to do…”

“That’s okay,” she assures him, “You’ve only known for a day. It’s a lot to consider.”

Peter opens his mouth to respond when there’s a polite knock on the door. A perky omega comes in, bright smile on her face. “Hello! I’m here to draw some blood then you can leave,” she smiles, wielding a tray of needles. “I just need you to roll up your sleeve, sweetie.”

Peter bristles. This omega can’t be that much older than him, but he keeps his mouth shut and rolls up his sleeve. She gets to works and they’re done. She reiterates that he should expect results in two or three days and they’re gone.

They sit in the car, unsure of what to say. The summer heat settles around them, but Aunt May doesn't start the car. Peter has no idea what to do next and Aunt May looks lost as well. She's fiddling with the keys, biting her lip like she might say something, but stopping herself. Peter tries to think about what's going to happen. There’s a lot of stuff that Peter _has_ to do next. He has to pay his rent, get his tuition settled, book an appointment with the omegastrician, go to the clinic, buy his textbooks, and buy himself some groceries. That's probably not everything either. “Should I start the pre-natal vitamins now?” he asks, staring out the windshield.

“If you think you should, Peter. They can’t hurt, even if you decide to not go through with it,” she answers. She sounds relieved that they have something to talk about.

Peter takes a minute to think about it. He remembers skipping meals and cringes. “Let’s go and get the vitamins. You’re right, they can’t hurt.”

“Okay.” Aunt May starts the car and they’re off.

It doesn’t take long to find a drug store, but Peter has trouble getting out of the car when it’s parked. Aunt May watches him worriedly. “What’s on your mind?” she asks.

“If I decide to get an abortion, isn’t this going to be a waste of money?” He asks his question to the windshield. Guilt settles inside him. He can't afford to waste money, or waste Aunt May's money.

“No,” Aunt May says firmly and without hesitation. Peter looks at her, blinking like he forgot she was there. “It’s not a waste of money. We buy food only to eat it or throw it out. This is something that your body needs, like food. It isn’t a waste.”

Peter smiles weakly, grateful. “Thanks, Aunt May.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... so... heavy stuff... a lot of information (?) mostly.... yes... Got a little spoiler if you're worried about the outcome... I dont blame you... and i couldn't resist using Dr. Strange... don't know why, but here he is!
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> also... what do you call a fic where you're pairing banged in ch. 1, but it's a slow burn from there? Is it still a slow burn? If you have any suggestions, let me know!
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> SPOILER ALERT: (((((Peter keeps the baby)))))
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> .....


	7. SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omegastrician Appointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! I'm baaack! This chapter is like super long! According to my word processor, about 9 or 10 pages... so yeah.. also i realize just how long this is and I'm freaking out lol... i've never written anything so long (and published it!)
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> I originally planned to split these up, but then i wrote everything at once... and yeah! 
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> Sorry it's taken a while, I've been working on another story at the same time! It took me a few read-throughs of the earlier chapters to get back into the proper headspace!
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> Anyways! Enjoy! No warnings needed I think!

The waiting room for the omegastrician is too cheery for Peter’s taste, even if it isn’t as pastel as he expected it to be. He expected there to be butter yellow walls, or powder blue walls. He expected cartoonish decals of butterflies, bumblebees, flowers with smiling faces. Or a combination of all three. He doesn’t know why, but he expected a nursery. The waiting room is actually a faded sky blue with tasteful art on the walls and grey, cushioned chairs. There are small, black end tables between sets of chairs that match a low coffee table in the middle of the room. Dated magazines, ranging from National Geographic to Cosmo, cover each flat surface. It's smaller than Dr. Strange’s waiting room. Tucked into a corner is a receptionist desk that’s dark and made of clean lines. The beta sitting behind the desk doesn’t look like she belongs here. Her smile is sharp and outlined in bold red. Peter assumes that the original cut of her blouse isn't meant to be so revealing. But she has generous curves and smiles at Peter like she would eat him alive. It's terrifying.

Peter’s grateful that Aunt May talked to her for him. Peter tries not to look at her while they wait. There’s no one else in the room, though, and Peter can feel her eyes on him. Aunt May sits next to him while they wait, calm as ever. She’s flipping through a magazine on home improvement, too fast to be reading any article. Peter watches her for an extra moment, gratitude flooding through him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her. Aunt May has been an irreplaceable source of strength and support for Peter.

Since his appointment with Dr. Strange, Peter has stayed at Aunt May's house. She has kept him from spiralling and keeps him company whenever he goes somewhere. She even drops him off and picks him up from work. Some people might find her suffocating, or patronizing, but Peter is only grateful. It’s been nice to be taken care of again. It also helps for Peter to _see_ her support with her presence. He’s 100% sure that he’d be three times as wound up for this appointment if he was alone. Actually, he’s 100% sure that he’d ignore this and hope that everything would work itself out. Aunt May doesn’t push him more than he needs. She pushes him to take care of himself better, forcing him to eat three meals a day and taking his multivitamin. Otherwise, she's letting Peter process things at his own pace. She won't talk about it unless Peter talks about it first and she never judges him whenever he does talk about it.

Although Aunt May hasn’t been pressuring Peter to make a decision, he knows that he's on a timeline. He can't drag his feet to make a decision, so he sets a deadline for himself to decide exactly what he’ll do. The first day of classes seemed like the best idea at the time. He decided his deadline the day Dr. Strange's office called to confirm Peter's test results. They also confirmed that the results be forwarded to the recommended omegastrician. His appointment with the omegastrician had already been made. The next important day on Peter's calendar is the first day of classes. It made sense then. On his birthday, Peter had a long discussion with Aunt May about what he should do for school. It was the day they went out to buy his textbooks. Peter told Aunt May that he’s going to stay in school, regardless of his choice. His tuition was paid that day and they bought his textbooks.

On the way home, Peter insisted on going to the Omega Assistance Clinic to talk to a counsellor. The counsellor they talked to was more than helpful. He had information packets to answer all Peter’s questions. Peter has never gotten so much information at once. He’s happy that he went when he did though. It eased a lot of Peter’s worries to talk with someone so candidly about his options. All his options. Peter got packets about abortion, adoption, pregnancy, and childbirth. It's all information that he can use to make his decision. Then the counsellor gave Peter a list of support groups, for when he did decide. These range from groups for omegas who get abortions, to those who go through the adoption process, and those who keep the child. There are even classes for young parents. Peter has to wonder how he’s never heard of this group before. All their information is so much better than anything that he has learned in school.

Anyways, his self-imposed deadline is days away and Peter is still undecided. Peter has started trying to rebuild his independence. As nice as it’s been to be taken care of, Peter wants to prove to himself that he can do this alone. He needs to know that he can take care of himself, and that starts with Peter moving back to his own apartment. Aunt May was reluctant, not that Peter can blame her. Last time he was alone, he he spiralled in his depression and got pregnant. She agrees, after a long discussion about rules. It rankles a little bit, he's still an adult, but he understands. He has to call her every week at least, or send a text if life gets too busy. He also has to promise that he'll come over for meals if he's short on cash for the month. Peter agreed, knowing that she only wants him to be healthy. She doesn't want to smother him. “Peter?” a soft voice calls, pulling Peter from his thoughts. The person who called him is standing next to the receptionist desk. He looks so much softer than the receptionist. His hair is brown and curly, and his brown eyes are soft. He’s a beta as well, but he’s just… softer than his receptionist. Peter can’t think of a better way to describe him. “Come on in,” the beta says, motioning for Peter to follow him. Aunt May stands up first and Peter leans on her as they walk into the examination room. He doesn’t know how his knees don’t buckle underneath him.

The examination room is larger than the average doctor’s room, with equipment in the room already. Instead of an examination table, there’s a large chair-like thing in the middle of the room with a paper runner on it. “Have a seat,” the beta says, patting the chair. He pulls out a pair of thin-rimmed glasses from the pocket of his lab coat and puts them on his face. He grabs a file from a desk. Peter hops onto the chair and leans back, but sits up again quickly. He doesn’t want to recline like that. The doctor will have to talk down at him so they can make eye contact. No thank you.

The beta is smiling, but it’s not out of amusement. It has to be the beta’s natural face. Aunt May is standing next to Peter, her hand firmly in his. “Hello, Peter. I’m Dr. Banner, but you can call me Bruce if you want.” He scans over the file. “I see you’ve seen Dr. Strange already and he gave you a blood test.” He pauses on a particular spot. “According to your hormones, I’d say you’re about six or seven weeks along.”

Peter’s breath shudders. “Yeah…” He never thought about it growing. For some reason, he thought that his pregnancy would pause until he figured out what to do. Hearing Dr. Banner say how far along he is without much thought is a harsh reality check. Life goes on, with or without you. That stings a little bit.

“It’s okay, Peter,” Aunt May soothes. Only then does he realize that he’s panting. He’s almost hyperventilating.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out, forcing himself to take deep breaths. It's not working, but it's not getting worse. So, that's good.

“It’s alright,” Dr. Banner assures him, “I’m guessing that this is still a shock.” Peter nods. “Don’t worry. We have time. Just take a couple of deep breaths and, when you’re ready, we’ll continue.”

Aunt May rubs circles between his shoulder blades and slows her own breathing. It’s easy to copy her and he calms down. He’s not alone. He can do this. “Okay. Sorry, doc. I’m ready.”

“Please, Peter, don’t worry. Being pregnant is a scary thing, regardless of your age. It’s normal to freak out a little bit.” Dr. Banner smiles. It is so gentle and warm that Peter has to sniff at the air again. Dr. Banner’s composure and demeanor seem more at home on an omega. Although Peter tries not to subscribe to gender stereotypes. He _tries_ not to. All Peter can smell is beta. “I have some questions for you, then we’ll see what’s going on, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pulls a pen from his pocket and starts reading from the file. “What have your symptoms been like? Have they been unmanageable?”

Peter looks at his Aunt May, confused. “Symptoms?” he asks.

“Have you experienced any nausea, or exhaustion?” Dr. Banner clarifies.

Peter shrugs. “Sometimes. I mean, I’m tired a lot, but it’s a busy time of the year. And I feel sick to my stomach sometimes, but it’s nothing serious.”

“Okay, good. Have you experienced morning sickness?”

Peter grimaces. “A couple of times, but not much. And it’s gone by the time I eat something.” Morning sickness hasn’t been very fun. He hates waking up from a dead sleep, already running for the bathroom so he doesn’t throw up everywhere. It’s more annoying than worrying.

“Good,” Dr. Banner is smiling again, “Any headaches?”

“Um. A few? I don’t know if it’s from the pregnancy though…”

Dr. Banner looks concerned. “Oh? Do you get chronic headaches?”

“No…. I… uh… like I said before, it’s a busy time for me… and like you said, I’m still freaking out a bit.”

The doctor nods his head in sympathy. “Of course. Make sure to keep yourself hydrated, then. If they become a problem, let me know. I can give you something to manage the pain. Headaches are common in your first trimester and should go away once you get into your second trimester.” He looks back at his list. “Have you been feeling faint at all? Easily fatigued?”

“No and yes? I mean, I haven’t felt like I was going to faint, but I do get tired easily. I sleep a bit more nowadays.”

“You’re also under a lot of stress,” Aunt May pipes in.

“No more than usual, Aunt May,” Peter argues. And it’s true. Beyond the whole pregnancy thing, he’s not stressed out any more than normal.

“That’s alright, Peter,” Dr. Banner cuts in, “It’s quite a change. Try not to overexert yourself, though.” He looks at his list again and clears his throat. “My next questions are standard, but are a little more personal. According to your chart, you’re 19, so your aunt does not have to be here for them. She can wait out in the waiting room.” Aunt May’s grip tightens on Peter’s hand. Peter has no idea what he’s going to ask. Because of Dr. Banner's specialization, Peter can guess they are going to be more invasive. But he wants Aunt May here for the ultrasound. “We can invite her back in here once all the questions have been asked,” he offers, picking up on Peter’s hesitation. Aunt May’s grip loosens a bit.

“Then…” Peter looks at Aunt May, “could you wait outside? Just for a bit?”

Aunt May smiles and kisses Peter’s forehead. “Of course. I’ll be right outside.”

“I’ll page Darcy when we’re ready for you,” Dr. Banner says to her. Aunt May nods and walks outside, shutting the door behind her. “Okay, Peter. Answer the questions as honestly as you can.”

“Okay.”

“Have you had any constipation?”

Peter’s cheeks turn red and he shakes his head. “Not that I can tell.”

“Alright. Have you experienced any aches or pains that are not normal for you?”

“Like where?”

“Like on your chest, particularly in your nipples or the muscle surrounding them. Or at your entrance? Any pain there?”

Dr. Banner is so calm about it, and that makes it worse. “No!” Peter sputters, crossing his arms over his chest. His nipples? What the hell?

“Peter, I know this is embarrassing, but please don’t lie because you’re embarrassed. I only want to make sure that everything is going smoothly,” Dr. Banner insists.

Peter looks right into Dr. Banner’s face. He looks non-threatening and earnest. It calms Peter down a bit, but he's still embarrassed. “No, Dr. Banner. No pain,” he says, more composed.

Dr. Banner smiles. “Good. Keep an eye out for that, too. As a male omega though, you don’t have much mammary tissue. You might not experience chest pain until your third trimester, when you start producing milk.” Peter’s eyes go wide. How the hell could he forget _that_? _Milk_?! “Has your sex drive been effected?”

“Um…” Peter says nervously, debating if he should be honest. “I haven’t felt like having sex at all.” He decides to go for the truth. After all, Dr. Banner won't judge him. He's a professional.

Dr. Banner looks surprised at the admission. “You haven’t had sex since you conceived? Have you masturbated?” His voice sounds like he’s worried, and trying to hide it, but, to Peter, it sounds like he's being judged.

He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the doctor. “I’ve had other things on my mind,” Peter snaps, “I’ve been worried about work, and getting my tuition paid, and what I’m going to do with this baby. So, sorry if I haven’t been in the mood.” His tone is snide, but he can't control it. Screw this guy.

  


“I’m sorry Peter,” Dr. Banner says immediately, holding up his hands to placate the omega. He looks contrite. “My reaction was inappropriate. I am not judging you.”

“It sure sounds like it,” Peter mumbles, hating how embarrassed he feels. This whole process has been awful and he doesn’t want to be belittled because he’s not banging someone. Banging someone is how he got into this mess in the first place.

“I am sorry, Peter. I did not frame my questions properly. I am worried, to be honest, and it came out very wrong.” Peter looks at Dr. Banner, as if to ask _why?_ “First pregnancies are dicey. They can go very well, or wrong very fast. Your body hasn't experienced pregnancy before, so you reactions can be more extreme. Your hormones may fluctuate dangerously, or not increase at all,” he explains, professionalism back in place. “Pain during sex can be a good indicator that something is wrong. That something hasn’t formed or settled properly and we can try to find ways to fix it. No sex drive can be worrying as well, if you had an ‘average’ sex drive to start with.” Dr. Banner uses air quotes around average. “Given the fact that you’re stressed out, it is not unusual to lose sex drive, so I won’t recommend an internal exam yet. Also, you’re young, so you’re more likely to be okay. If, when everything settles down, you’re still feel unmotivated for sex, please let me know.”

“Why?”

“If you had a sex drive before your pregnancy, and it disappears, it could be indicative of a hormone imbalance, and I would prescribe hormone therapy. Also, if you start having sex again, do not hesitate to tell me if there is pain or discomfort from penetration. Or, if your slick is discolored, smells different, or if enough isn’t being produced. There should be about the same amount as if you were ovulating, about the six weeks before your heat.”

“Oh…" Peter feels stupid. Why is he so defensive about this? "Sorry for snapping at you, Dr. Banner.”

Dr. Banner waves his hand. “Do not worry about it, Peter. Please. If anything, I apologize to you for being unprofessional.”

He looks so earnest. Any anger inside Peter dissipates. “It’s okay,” Peter nods, “I am a little defensive.”

“No,” Dr. Banner says firmly, surprising Peter with his insistence, “You don’t have to put up with judgement like that, especially from your doctor. It’s my job to make sure that you are healthy and taking care of yourself. It is not my job to form and voice an opinion on your life, beyond the bounds of medical concern.”

Something eases inside Peter at Dr. Banner’s words. It appears that Dr, Banner takes his objectivity seriously. He won’t judge Peter for any decisions he makes, or, at least he won’t voice them. “Thanks, Dr. Banner.”

“No problem.” He flips open the file again and skims over it. “I think that’s all the questions I have for you. Do you have anything to ask me before we call your aunt back in here?”

Peter wants to say no, but a question sticks out in his mind. It takes him a moment to decide how he should ask. “Uh… the night I… the alpha… uh…" Peter licks his lips, trying again. "There was more slick than usual.” He pauses, staring at the floor, blush burning his cheeks. Peter wonders if he’ll ever stop blushing. “Does… uh… does that mean anything?” Peter hates himself. He sounds like an idiot. He risks a glance at Dr. Banner, but his smile is gentle and he doesn’t _look_ like he thinks Peter is an idiot.

“Slick production varies from omega to omega, and it usually indicates level of arousal. So, the more turned on you are, the more slick you’ll produce. It could also be your body’s way of showing compatibility with your partner. If you were compatible enough, your heat cycle could have been triggered early, but that is very rare,” he assures Peter when he sees the panicked look spreading across his face, “I don’t think that is your case though. According to your timeline, you were already fertile when you conceived. Also a triggered heat would last as long as a regular heat, maybe a day shorter because of the hormones and pheromones you’re receiving from your partner.”

Peter stares at Dr. Banner for a moment. “So…. I was just turned on?”

“Most likely,” he nods, “The only way to know would be to take a hormone compatibility test, and those are only %70 accurate. But, you have nothing to worry about with producing extra slick. You’re young. Young people tend to experience more extremes with their bodies. It’s normal.”

Peter sighs, “Thanks, Doc.”

“No problem. Do you have any more questions for me?”

“Can you not tell my aunt about the alpha thing?”

“Of course, Peter.” Dr. Banner looks shocked. “You’re a legal adult and protected under confidentiality laws. Anything you tell me in private I cannot share without your explicit permission or a warrant from the police.”

Peter relaxes a little more. “Okay… thanks.”

“Again, no problem. If you’re ready, I’ll call your aunt back and we can see what’s going on in there.” Dr. Banner stands and moves to his desk, putting the file onto it. He pages the front desk by picking up his phone. Peter leans back and watches him speak into the receiver. “Hey Darcy. Send Mrs. Parker back. Thank you.” He grabs some gloves and snaps them on.

Aunt May is back in the room in the next minute. Peter is relieved to see her and holds his hand out for her to take. She takes it and leans over him, kissing his forehead. He missed her, even if it was ten minutes. “Hey Peter. Did Dr. Banner give you a better sex talk than the one I gave you?” she teases. Maybe he didn't miss her all that much.

Peter’s face flares. Again. “Aunt May,” he whines, fighting his smile.

Dr. Banner chuckles and wheels over a largish machine. “If you want a sex talk, I’ve got a great PowerPoint.” Peter doesn’t know if he’s joking or not. Aunt May laughs. Peter huffs, but doesn’t let it bother him. He doesn’t mind being teased if it makes Aunt May laugh like that. Dr. Banner presses some buttons on the machine and flips some switches. “Okay, Peter. Roll up your shirt and push down your pants a bit. I’ll have to go pretty low on your abdomen to get a clear picture.”

Peter lets go of Aunt May’s hand to pull his shirt up so it’s tucked under his chin and shimmy his pants and underwear down. They are _very_ low on his hips. Even though he's still clothed, he feels exposed. He grabs onto Aunt May’s hand again, tighter this time. It’s starting to feel too real and Peter doesn’t know if he’s ready for the truth. “This is going to be cold,” Dr. Banner warns before squirting some clear jelly onto Peter’s stomach.

“Ah!” Peter jumps at how cold it is. _Do they refrigerate this stuff?_ Peter wonders. That shit is _cold_. Aunt May’s grip tightens on Peter’s hand.

“Sorry,” Dr. Banner chuckles, then grabs the wand. He presses the flat end into Peter’s abdomen. Peter grimaces under the pressure. It’s more than he’s expecting. Peter squeezes his eyes shut, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. “Okay, okay… uter…us,” Dr. Banner mutters, most likely to himself. Peter peeks at him. Dr. Banner is staring at the display, lips moving, but no sound coming out. He moves the wand without looking at it, squinting and humming with each flick of his wrist. Peter flops back so he’s staring at the ceiling. A few minutes later, Dr. Banner declares, “Ah-ha! There you are!”

Peter holds his breath and looks the other way. The doctor sounds triumphant and happy, but Peter hears finality. The wand isn’t moving. It feels like an immovable pressure on his stomach. There’s a few moments of tense silence before Dr. Banner speaks again, “Do you want to see, Peter?” He sounds like he'll support Peter's answer either way. Peter should look, so he can't deny it later.

Peter nods, still breathing deeply. “Yeah… I just need… a minute.”

“Of course.”

Aunt May’s free hand goes through his hair. It eases him. He takes two more deep breaths and looks. Then he frowns, almost disappointed at what he sees. It's a grainy, greyscale picture that's... pulsing? Peter's not sure what he's looking at. “I can’t see it,” Peter tells him, shocked that he _sounds_ disappointed.

The corners of Dr. Banner’s lips twitch up. He points to a spot that looks like a bean. “Right here is your fetus.” Aunt May’s grip on Peter's hand gets a little tighter. Or Peter thinks it’s her grip. It could be him. “Judging from the size, I’d say you’re in your sixth week. It’s in a good position, inside the uterus, and appears to have all its connections. Do you want to see if we can get a heartbeat?” He looks back to Peter, who nods, unable to tear his eyes from the screen. Dr. Banner flips a switch and the room fills with the _thump-thump_ of a too-fast heartbeat.

Everything but that noise stops moving around Peter. Time has stopped and everything has fallen away. Peter's not sure he's breathing. “Fuck,” Peter says, tears pooling in his eyes. The world starts moving around him again. Air rushes into his lungs.

“Do you want a picture?”

“Yes,” Peter chokes out, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“How many?”

Peter can’t speak anymore. His mouth opens, but he doesn't make a sound. Aunt May steps in. “Three, please.”

“Sure thing.” He presses some keys on the machine and removes the wand. The heartbeat stops, but it echoes inside Peter’s head. The picture stays on the screen, but it’s still. Peter didn’t realize how much the image was moving before. Dr. Banner stands, snapping off his gloves. “I’ll give you a few minutes to take it in. And I'll come back and do a quick physical.” He holds out a Kleenex box for Peter. “Here’s something to wipe off the gel.” Aunt May takes the box, because Peter still isn’t moving. She thanks Dr. Banner, then they’re alone.

Neither of them speak. Aunt May is staring at Peter; he can feel her gaze boring into the side of his head. But he _can’t look away_. He’s focused on that little bean. That’s his child, that little bean. Peter saw it moving, heard its little heartbeat. He knows what he’s going to do now. He hopes that Aunt May doesn’t hate him.

\----------------------------------------------------

Peter can’t bring himself to tell his aunt his decision right away. There’s a part of Peter that just _can’t_ bring himself to voice what he's decided. That part is filled with fear at the finality of what he's picked. The other part is more reluctant. Cautious. It wants to make sure that this is what he wants. He can’t change his mind after this. Once Peter says it out loud, he is committed. He won’t be able to back out. This is permanent.

This scares him, to put it mildly. Nothing he’s ever had to choose before has had such finality. School, where he lives, his job, those are all things Peter can change. It might not be easy, but they can be changed. He won't be able to opt out of this. Peter hides in his room once they get back from the appointment, and thinks about everything. He asks himself over and over again if he’s going to do this, if he’s going to tell Aunt May. It’s a tortuous cycle that fills him with doubt, then joy, then guilt, then doubt, and so on. He’s only taken out of it when Aunt May calls him down for supper. Peter goes downstairs on auto-pilot, mind still reeling. Dinner smells nice. It’s a simple meal of spaghetti, with garlic bread, and Caesar salad. The house smells like garlic and oregano. Peter’s tension eases a bit at the scent. It reminds him of being younger.

He goes to sit in his spot when he sees the sonogram pictures next to his plate. His focus lasers in on that bean and he remembers seeing it moving, hearing its heartbeat. It's so real, now. There's no more delusion of 'maybe the test was wrong' or 'it's some weird disease.' This picture is proof that there is a little person growing inside him. He doesn’t even sit down when he blurts out, “I’m keeping the baby.” There’s panic in his chest at his admission, but he feels lighter. Peter sighs, breathing easily for the first time in weeks. He feels _good_ , not just better. Aunt May looks like she may not be breathing, though.

She’s frozen in place, one glass almost out of her grip beside her plate while one for Peter is in her other hand. For the first time, Peter sees something other than understanding on his aunt’s face. There is worry, joy, and apprehension etched into the lines of her face. She forces herself to move again, but it’s stiff and Peter doesn’t know what that means. He’s used to her supporting him without fail. Did she want him to get an abortion? Peter sits in his chair, unease churning his stomach. The good feeling starts to drain out of him.

Aunt May sits in her own chair, a practiced calm settling about her. Peter tenses. She’s usually only like this when she’s disappointed in something. “Are you sure?” she asks. Peter’s eyes go wide. This is all he’s thought about for weeks. Of course he’s sure. “Not that I don’t support you,” she adds, her posture easing into something more relaxed. Peter relaxes as she does. “I want you to be sure. This is a big decision and today was very emotional. I don’t want you to say this, then change your mind next week, once everything has had a chance to sink in.”

That’s it. Peter relaxes entirely. Aunt May is excited for this, but she doesn’t want to get attached to the idea if Peter changes his mind. He knows he should feel upset that she’s questioning him, like she doesn’t trust his judgement, but she’s protecting herself from heartache. And Peter has been emotional lately. Peter smiles, calm for the first time in weeks. “I know, Aunt May. I know you’re just watching out for me, but I’ve spent weeks thinking about this. Every other option has left me feeling sick. This,” he picks up a sonogram picture and stares at it, “this feels like the right thing to do.” He pauses. “The right thing for me.”

He looks up at her and that calm has disappeared. She’s smiling openly, full of joy. “Okay, Peter. If you’re sure.” She's excited for him and it fuels Peter.

“I am,” he insists, without hesitation. It feels weird to have certainty in his life again. Or, as certain as one can be. It’s empowering. The only thing is moving forward, planning what he has to do next. Peter starts eating his food and is surprised by how good it tastes. He didn’t realize how bland everything tasted before.

Aunt May is staring at him, and Peter waits for her to say what she wants to say. She’s given him his space for the past couple of weeks, so he’ll give her hers. It must have been hard to deal with Peter. He pauses. Maybe he is having mood swings already. He should have asked Dr. Banner about that.

“What about the alpha?” she asks, cutting through the calm that surrounds Peter. He sighs, that didn’t last long.

“What _about_ the alpha?” Peter asks back, calmly spinning more spaghetti onto his fork. He forces another bite into his mouth, even though his appetite is starting to leave him. It hasn’t been easy, but Peter has pushed the alpha out of his mind. That alpha wasn’t even a factor in Peter’s decision to keep the baby. There’s nothing more to think about when it comes to the alpha.

Aunt May exhales. “You know what I mean, Peter.” He swallows the mouthful of food and it hurts going down. That’s her disappointed voice. He’s been waiting since he’s been back to hear that tone. He's surprised that this is when he's hearing it. “Aren’t you going to tell him?” Peter sinks in his chair, scared to look away from the floor. He can hear Aunt May take a deep breath before speaking again. “I’m not saying that you _have_ to tell him—“ that’s exactly what it sounds like “—but don’t you think he deserves to know?”

Peter bristles, defensive. “I don’t see how he’s even a factor in this. I’m the one who has to go through everything, who has to decide everything. He doesn’t get a say in what I do or don’t do,” he snaps.

“It takes two to make a child,” Aunt May snaps right back. Peter glares at her, not understanding her insistence on this, or why he’s so defensive about it. “Despite everything, your child has two parents.”

“Just because he fucked me, doesn’t mean that he’ll be a good parent,” Peter says, forcing eye contact with his aunt. Her mouth snaps shut. “Parenthood is more than making a child. You have _no idea_ what the alpha was like. This is my decision, and you said that you’d support me.”

Aunt May looks conflicted. She takes a few moments to speak. “I will support you, Peter, no matter what you do, I told you that already and I meant it.” There’s a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Peter is still upset, and he doesn’t want to speak first. This is something that he has decided for himself, and she has to respect that. “I want you to think about it more, before you make any final decision. Don’t even think about what not telling him would mean for him, think about what it means for you.”

Peter’s grip tightens around his silverware. The image of people judging him fills his mind. He is an adult, but he looks like he's still in high school. People are going to look at him with pity, like this has ruined his life. It isn't fair because the alpha doesn't have to deal with this. No one will know. His appetite leaves him. “And you won’t know what kind of parent he’ll be if you never give him the chance.”

Peter bites his lips, not wanting to think about it, or fight about it. When he decided to keep the baby, he never thought about doing it with the alpha. He pictured doing it himself, even with whatever stigma he knows he'd encounter. It isn’t going to be easy, but he can do it. “You don’t think I can do this alone,” he accuses, voice even. That hurts more than anything.

Aunt May’s eyes go wide. “No. That’s not it at all.” Her response is immediate and helps soothe some of the hurt and anger inside Peter. “I don’t want you to have any regrets about this, Peter. I don’t want you to wonder, in five years, or ten years, or next month, ‘what if I would have told that alpha?’ You’ll torture yourself with the ‘what ifs’ and I want to protect you.”

She’s making a good point. Peter does dwell on missed opportunities more than the next person. He spent the first week after Gwen mulling over how he could have changed that outcome. How he could have done things differently that day and how she could still be here with him. It doesn’t help, but Peter dwells on it until he’s raw. He hates how Aunt May is making sense. It would be so much easier if she was being unreasonable. “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he admits, fight leaving him with his admission. The hurt is still there though.

“It’s his child, too,” she insists. That stings. She really doesn't think he can do this alone, regardless of what she says.

Peter closes his eyes and looks away. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Can we drop it?” He waits for her response, but her silence tells him she won’t drop this. She's going to push until she gets her way. “For now?” he adds, even though he has no intention of visiting this topic again.

Aunt May huffs. “Fine, for now.” She digs into her meal, the food cold now. Peter doesn’t think he can finish it. “At least think about it. Don’t rush into anything.”

Peter nods and forces himself to eat. He might not be hungry, but he’s not eating alone anymore. How can he explain to Aunt May that the alpha is unstable? That leaving him out of this child's life will be best? He knocked out that other alpha without breaking a sweat. He’s dangerous. How can he tell Aunt May that he doesn’t even know the alpha’s name? It’s easy to dismiss the alpha when he’s just ‘the alpha.’ Talking to him about this would give Peter a face and expectations. He can’t have those and then have the rug pulled out from underneath him when the alpha turns tail and runs.

He finishes every bite of his meal and excuses himself to his room. Aunt May gives him the sonograms, with a light suggestion that the other one should be given to the alpha. Peter disappears without helping clean up. Aunt May lets him. Peter has never been more grateful that he’s moving back to his own place. He loves his Aunt May, but now he might need his distance to think things through.

\----------------------------------------------------

Dammit. Dammit. **Dammit**.

Peter wants to blame Aunt May, but she has no idea what he’s doing. After her initial protest, she didn’t bring up talking to the alpha again. At least out loud. He knows that she’s brimming with the need to ask him about it again, but she’s giving him his distance. It’s awesome and infuriating.

She helped him move back to his apartment the day before. And she acted like nothing has changed. She made sure that his fridge was stocked, wish Peter good luck with his classes, kissed his forehead, and left. That was that. She didn't talk about the sonograms on the fridge, or mention the alpha again. Why can't his aunt be petty? It'd make Peter feel a lot less guilty about avoiding her.

Classes start tomorrow, but Peter had two full nights to think about the alpha. His memories are hazy at best, and he doesn’t wholly trust them. He tried _not_ to think about him, but his mind wasn’t having it. Would it be cruel to keep the alpha out of the picture? What happens when his kid asks about his other dad? Can Peter tell his child that he didn’t know the alpha who got him pregnant? Would his kid try to find the alpha anyways?

_Maybe the alpha_ has _gotten better_ , Peter thinks, _Maybe he’ll help_. It’s selfish, Peter’s hopes for help. He’s worried about what people are going to say about him. Having an alpha around would mitigate a lot of the stigma. It’s more common for omegas to be single parents, but there is still an unspoken expectation that the alpha is still around. Aunt May would help, but having support from someone else would be better.

In the end, it isn’t the thought of financial support, or emotional support that has Peter looking for the alpha. It’s the alpha’s eyes. Peter can remember the skin stretched over muscles, and how his hands felt on Peter’s hip, but he can’t remember what his eyes looked like. That's a problem.

When Peter isn’t thinking about maybe telling the alpha, he pictures his child, grown and laughing. It’s easy to picture a carbon copy of himself, messy, brown hair, bright, hazel eyes, lanky, but that’s all he can picture. He has no idea how much this child will look like the alpha. It unsettles Peter that his child, who he will be with every day for the next eight months, will be a mystery. He won’t be able to get any idea until they’re born. Because it’s not just Peter who made this child.

Dammit! It's so frustrating when Aunt May is right.

So, Peter takes his day off to track down the alpha. It takes him all morning to build up the courage to leave his apartment. He doesn’t have much to go on, but he’s determined. Aunt May is oblivious to his adventure. Peter would have told her, but he’s certain she would insist on coming with him. Part of him wants to do this alone. The other part doesn’t want Aunt May see him guess until he stumbles across the alpha. If Peter can keep Aunt May in the dark about how messed up he was, he will take that opportunity.

His wallet feels too big as he sits in the subway. He carefully folded the sonogram into it. The picture makes it real for him, so he hopes it will do the same for the alpha. He doesn’t want the alpha to think that he’s lying. The subway ride is as long as it was last time. The neighborhood he ended up in mocked Peter every time he looked at the subway map, so he starts there. The only familiar thing Peter sees, when he gets above ground, is the trash can where he threw out his coffee. He walks past it, trying to retrace his steps.

In his gut, he feels like he’s going in the right direction, but his mind is questioning him. Does that building look familiar? Was that fire hydrant that red before? Is that mailbox grey, or faded blue? Nothing jumps out at him, until he spots the small coffee shop from that morning. He doesn’t remember the name, but the shop looks the same. He sneaks past the window, peeking inside. That same beta is working behind the counter. Peter rushes past. He never expected to be back in this neighborhood, and he feels guilty about not leaving a tip. Also, he doesn’t want that beta to make assumptions about why he’s back. Even if he guesses right, he doesn’t need to know.

The buildings start to look a little more run down the further he walks. Nothing concerning, but it’s easy to tell that it’s been a while since someone gave a crap about them. It isn’t long before he comes across the apartment building. He remembers looking up at it, pain coursing through him at his own stupidity. It has to be this one. He walks right in the front door, the lock broken, and goes up the stairs. The front door wasn't locked that night either. Peter’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but he swears he can smell the alpha. He goes to the door marked 2D and knocks.

In the next moment, Peter regrets it. He never thought this through. This alpha is violent, dangerous. He could try to force a mating bond. Sure, it’s illegal, but there’s only so much the legal system can do once it happens. Mating bonds take years to fade, and alphas that force bonds won’t stay away long enough to allow it to fade. Peter can’t fight off this alpha. He’s made a mistake.

He starts to turn around, but the door swings open before he moves far. Peter freezes and stares at the alpha. He’s taller than he remembered. The alpha is wearing a t-shirt and loose pants. A lot of his skin is on display, but Peter’s looking into the alpha’s eyes. Blue. Sapphire. Very pretty. The alpha looks like he doesn't believe what he sees. His mouth is hanging open in surprise.

Panic rushes through Peter when there's a spark of recognition in the alpha’s eyes. His voice cracks when he asks, “Baby boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i kind of decided to showcase Aunt May's own biases, from Peter's perspective... she is insanely supportive and progressive, but she has the mentality that if you have a child, you should step up and take care of that child... I don't know exactly how to explain it... but it works... and also I needed to add some disagreement between her and Peter. As much as they get along, no one agrees %100 of the time...
> 
> also a little expositional still cause I'm still worldbuilding... sorry if it's a little fast paced... I tried to keep the pace, but get through all the information!
> 
> but Wade's back!


	8. EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tells Wade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So Hello again! This was a little troublesome for me. I am not entirely comfortable with Wade's POV but I feel like i needed to do this chapter from his perspective!
> 
> That being said, it's Wade, so there are **suicidal ideations** and a lot of self-hate! I will be adding those tags as well! Yellow is also a massive dick... just a heads up..
> 
> { _yellow_ }  
> [ ** _white_** ]
> 
> please, please heed the warning. I did not expect to write the suicidal stuff, but it just worked itself in... anyways, enjoy!

August passed, one disappointing day after another. The end of July was the peak of Wade’s life. He’s not overstating that, either. Before his accident, when he didn’t look like something pulled from the wreckage of a house fire, he had a good time. He could get whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, but he never had anything like that omega before. It’s like a massive cosmic joke that he had to look like _this_ to have that sort of night, to get that sort of omega. Wade hates the taste it leaves in his mouth.

At first, Wade tried to put the omega out of his mind. That didn’t last very long. He tried finding company with others, usually of the “paid-for” variety. And it sucked. Sure, it felt good enough, and they were attractive enough, but it _sucked_. It’s not even their fault. They do their job; get Wade off, and get gone. No fuss, no muss. But it’s _not enough_. If anything, it makes the hole in his chest widen. It also feels unfair to them, so Wade stops.

Instead, he settles for the company of his memories and his right hand. The memories help the hole in his chest morph into an ache, but it doesn’t help how much he hates himself. The voices have taken a special pleasure in torturing Wade. Well, Yellow pleasures in torturing Wade, while White is too dumb to realize that his commentary _isn’t helping_. Yellow has Wade convinced that the omega is still in high school, and he should be in jail. It doesn't stop Wade from using the memory of the omega, it only gives Yellow more to work with. White would drool over the omega if he could. If White was a real, corporeal person, Wade would be knocking him out. No one should be spoken about like that, whether they hear the comments or not.

August has left Wade curious about why he’d survive his incident to only live like _this_. He’s heartbroken over a relationship that was never meant to be. No, not heartbroken. He's not a schoolgirl. He's an adult. It hurts because Wade can't move on from a one night stand. He's isolated from everyone but his voices. That's because Wade can't handle the fear he sees when people look at him. Or the pity. And he can’t hold down a job to save his life. Well, he hasn’t tried too hard on the job front. Somehow, he has a small settlement from the army. It could be back pay, or hush-money, but Wade isn’t sure. All he knows is that he has no problem spending the government’s money on drugs, alcohol and sex. Although, now that sex isn’t an option anymore, Wade has spent a little more on the drugs and alcohol part.

With more money for drugs, Wade has invested in some serious pain killers. Nothing that gets injected, but good nonetheless. It’s not that he’s against intravenous drugs, he's heard that it's faster acting and feels so much better. Wade is wary { _scared_ } around needles. The first few months after his accident has fostered an aversion to anything medical. Even needles for drugs make him nervous. Also, he’s in pain, hence, **painkillers**. Emotional pain is still pain, regardless of what Yellow says. Although, it begs the question: Is life worth anything if he’s in this much pain? Is this quality of life worth living?

Wade hasn’t thought of his own ideas to kill himself, not that he wants to. Yellow has been quite vocal about his support for suicide, offering suggestions whenever Wade _does not ask for them_. Which is often. Yellow’s suggestions aren’t intrusive, per se. It’s not so much the tone of the suggestions, but the quantity. Yellow suggests suicide at least once an hour, in a gentle, wheedling tones that suggests that he cares; like { _Maybe you should take a few more pills. It won’t hurt anything_ } or { _Why don’t we take a nap in the bathtub? Aren’t we tired?_ } It’s a small break from the vitriol of being broken down, but more annoying than not. Wade has taken to actively think of reasons _not to kill himself_ just to be contrary. Also, he’s not sure that it would work. The doctors were surprised he was still alive after the incident. They never expected him to recover after he stabilized. Wade didn't either.

He looks around his apartment, trying to think of ways to spite Yellow. He needs something to show Yellow that his life isn’t that bad, that there’s a reason he’s still around. So far, all he sees is old takeout containers, dirty dishes, and dirty laundry. This place looks awful. Wade swallows hard. Would anyone even miss Wade if he disappeared?

{ _No. No one would care,_ } Yellow whispers, words stinging like salt in a raw wound. Wade pushes that down and looks out his window. Sunshine. That’s enough. And Yellow’s been pro-death for too long. Can’t trust his judgement. Also, for good measure, fuck him. { _Fuck you_.}

There’s another reason Wade doesn’t want to die. Simply enough, death scares him. He’s already been close to death, and there was so much pain and fear. He can’t face that again. And he has no idea what comes after. There are two options; either something happens, or something doesn’t. Both are terrifying. Not knowing is terrifying. He looks at his hands and realizes that he has an orange prescription bottle in his hand. When did that get there? { _You gonna do it today?_ } Yellow asks, excited.

“Fuck off,” Wade snarls, tempted to throw the bottle across the room out of spite. He doesn’t _need_ them. He can push through the pain. He tries to ignore the surge of panic that lances through him at the thought of losing the bottle in the mess. The pills have the added bonus of quieting the voices along with numbing the pain. It doesn’t last forever, but the few hours of silence he gets has stopped him from going crazy. Crazier. Yellow gets extra judgmental when they wear off. He gets creative in his insults, like he took the time he was quiet to think of some truly nasty insults. White goes even dumber, taking the high once it wears off for Wade. It’d be funny if Yellow wasn’t such a _dick._

{ _Don’t be rude._ } He sounds so pretentious. { _It’d be easy. Just take the whole bottle. There’s at least twelve pills. Chase it with something stronger than beer until everything fades away_.}

[ ** _No! Beer! Beer gives us a better high! Can’t be in pain when you’re high!_** ]

White’s excitement leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He goes into the kitchen and grabs a beer, needing that taste out of his mouth. White bounces in excitement, chittering about getting high. Wade isn’t taking the pills to get high. They aren’t for fun. They’re for **pain**. Wade looks at the bottle again, repeating to himself that they aren’t for fun. { _Don’t lie to yourself, Wade. It’ll make you uglier._ } Wade wishes, not for the first time, that Yellow was a person so he could knock him senseless. Yellow keeps on going, ignoring Wade’s homicidal thoughts. It’s not like Wade can actually follow through with his threats. { _You bought these pills from a kid. These pills_ are for fun.}

[ ** _Yes! Toss ‘em back! Embrace the void!_** ]

“Shut up,” Wade growls, rubbing his forehead. He paces away from his kitchen counter, leaving his beer and bottle of pills there. He needs a moment to think, and maybe movement will shut the voices up. Yellow cackles. There’s a knock at the door, and Wade goes to the door without a second thought. Usually, when Wade is trying to get a moment alone, the voices trick him. A knock on the door is a classic. So he’d wait for a second knock, but he isn’t thinking. He swings the door open and freezes.

His first thought is _damn_ , ‘cause that is one attractive omega. Then, he has a moment of panic because he is not covered at all. He’s wearing his comfortable sweats and his soft, white t-shirt. There’s so much skin on display, and the poor omega can see his face. And that’s exactly where the omega is staring, but not in disgust. He looks scared, panicked. Then, Wade’s memory kicks in. Slender body, messy, brown hair, hazel eyes, _holy shit_.

[ ** _It’s him!!_** ] White squeals, then starts humming porno music.

{ _He’s here because you gave him something. When’s the last time you got tested?_ } Dread settles in Wade’s gut.

[ ** _Time for round two! Make him feel gooooood! Keep him coming back for more!_** ]

Wade wants to punch himself in the head, but he can’t move. He blinks a few times, expecting the omega to disappear, but he stays. Not a hallucination. Not a memory. It makes sense though; Wade’s memory is not that good. The omega is so much prettier than he remembers. Wade thought he was exaggerating in his memories. { _You’re staring_.} Yellow states, almost amused.

Right. Not hallucinating. Speak. Words. He can talk. Why is it so hard to remember words? “Baby boy?” he asks, voice cracking. Smooth.

The omega startles and the sour smell of fear starts filling the air. Without the smell, Wade wouldn’t think that the omega was that scared. Sure, he looks wary, and like he might bolt, but that’s smart. He's in an unfamiliar place, alone, talking to the love child of an avocado and a topographical map of Utah. The omega stands up straighter, pushing out his chest and takes a few deep breaths. Wade waits, unsure of what he should say. It looks like the omega has something that he needs to say, so Wade can wait. It'd be easier if the omega spoke first anyways. His breathing shudders and he opens his mouth, “My name is Peter Parker and I’m pregnant.”

It’s said in one breath and he gasps for air after it’s out.

Wade’s brain shuts off for a second. Is he breathing? The omega—Peter—can’t be saying what Wade thinks he’s saying. His mouth falls open, “Ha?” Fucking words. If Wade could think, he’d be angry with himself. He needs to use his words, but it looks like he can only make sounds now.

Peter’s face twists into something Wade never, ever wants to see on that face again. He looks like he might cry. “It’s yours,” he adds, voice above a whisper

Okay, Wade was breathing before, because he’s not now. All the air has left his lungs and they refuse to refill. His knees give out and he falls into the door. It slams into the wall behind it from the weight of Wade’s body. He’s still on his feet, but he doesn’t know how. Peter looks worried, but keeps his distance. { _You really fucked up this time, Wade. Couldn’t you have given him chlamydia?_ } Yellow snaps. For once, the tone scares Wade. He doesn’t sound happy at all at Wade’s misfortune. He sounds pissed.

[ ** _Babies!!!!!!_** ]

Yeah, that doesn’t help. “You’re clowning,” Wade wheezes out. Peter jerks back, like Wade slapped him. Oh, God. “You’re not clowning… I smell clowns.” Wade might faint. He’s still not breathing right.

{ _Why would he lie?_ } Yellow snaps out, disappointed. That's so weird. Why is Yellow angry? He should be laughing it up. { _Does he want all your money? Or your rock star good looks? Fuck off, Wade_.}

Peter sniffs, pulling himself together. God, it really looks like he’s going to cry. Wade’s going to hell, or worse than hell, whatever that is. Some god out there is not going to let him get away with this. Peter pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and snags the piece of paper sticking out of it. The edges are slightly curled, and Peter fiddles with them, trying to straighten them. He unfolds it and starts talking, without looking away from it, his voice wavering, “I’m about six weeks along. I’ve already decided to keep the baby, but I don’t expect anything from you. You can do as much or as little as you want. I just thought… you should know. That you had a right to know.” His voice gets softer the longer he talks. He clears his throat and steps closer, and Wade gets a nose full of his scent. It’s soft, and reminds Wade of spring, fresh and crisp. It takes him back to the night, but also keeps him grounded in the present. This time, there is no arousal. It’s a clean, everyday scent. The fear is even gone.

Peter turns the paper around and it takes Wade a moment to realize that it’s a sonogram. Peter has his finger on a spot. “This is the baby, so far,” Peter says, voice soft, like he’s sharing a secret with Wade.

Wade’s entire focus goes to where Peter’s finger is. The picture is grey and grainy looking. He frowns in confusion. “It’s a bean,” he blurts out, immediately biting his lip afterwards. He just shit all over that moment.

But, Peter laughs. Wade stares at him. That’s a beautiful sound. Peter looks at the sonogram again, smile on his face. “Yeah… it is a bean.” He strokes a finger over it before holding it out to Wade. Wade takes it without thinking. He stares at the bean. This can’t be real, but the voices have never thought of something so elaborate. And it feels so real. “So… uh… I’m going to go. Talk to you later.”

Peter starts walking away it takes Wade a moment to react. “Wait.” Peter turns around. God, he really is beautiful. Wade swallows. How can it hurt to swallow when he has nothing in his mouth? “What about your picture?” he asks, stepping into the hallway and holding it out to Peter. He doesn’t want to give it back, but he will.

Peter shakes his head. “That’s yours.”

Wade pulls it to his chest, wrinkling it, and inhaling sharply, “Really?”

Something softens in Peter’s face and he smiles. Wade feels like he might have seen the eighth wonder of the world in that smile. “Really,” Peter confirms, “I wrote my number on the back. Give me a call when you figure out what you want to do.”

Wade has to tear his attention away from Peter to look at the back of the sonogram. Sure enough, in bold, black lettering, are 10 numbers, signed with Peter’s name. It doesn’t feel real. When Wade looks up again, Peter is gone. His only proof of their meeting is the picture in his hand and the lingering scent in the air.

Wade shuffles back into his apartment and goes straight to his bedroom. There’s no way that was real. He’s finally lost his mind. He lies down on his bed and closes his eyes, picture clutched to his chest. Peter’s smile fills his mind. He falls asleep thinking about a child with that smile. And bright, blue eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Wade wakes up, not sure what time it is. The sky outside is dark, but the edges are changing colors. It’s probably morning. Early morning, but morning. Wade has never slept through the night. Not since the indicent. Last night, his sleep wasn’t dreamless, but pleasant. It’s so odd. He’s used to nightmares and the voices annoying him awake. Wade feels _rested_. He’s on top the covers, still on his back, with his hands folded on his chest. Wade frowns. He’s been a restless sleeper since he’s gotten back.

Something wrinkles under his fingers that is not his t-shirt. He looks down and sees the sonogram. His breath hitches and emotion pours through him. That was real. Peter was here. Peter gave him this picture. Wade sits up, pressing the picture to his forehead, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He’s not sad, he’s not happy, he’s overwhelmed. This is _real_.

Peter is six weeks pregnant. Wade has a _child_. It’s still being developed, but it’s Wade’s. He’s always wanted children, but he gave up on that when he came back. Before, it was always a ‘it’ll happen in the future’ thought. Then, it was gone. Now, he has a chance. He pulls the sonogram far enough away so he can see it. Now he knows he’s crying because he’s happy. Having children was a dream that he had to let go. { _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wade_.}

“Shut up. Let me enjoy this.” Wade doesn’t want to deal with Yellow’s negativity right now. He wants to let himself be happy. What a weird thought.

[ ** _First try! Who’s the alpha? You’re the alpha!!_** ]

Wade winces. “That’s not helpful.” He wipes at his eyes, trying to pull himself together before Yellow uses his emotions against him. He looks at the bean and the tears start coming again. Dammit. At this rate, he’ll cry himself dry. He chuckles at the thought.

{ _You’re not actually considering being a parent?_ _Are you insane?! Er… insane-r?_ }

“It’s the right thing to do.” Wade knows it is. He knows it on a molecular level. He doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance to have a kid. He doesn’t want to be a dead-beat alpha, who never tried to know his children. Wade wants his child to know that they’re loved. He doesn't want to be his dad.

{ _No. The right thing would be to turn tail and run like hell is on your ass! It’s already bad enough that you knocked him up! Now you’re going to squeeze yourself into the rest of his life! You’re lucky he hasn’t called the police on you._ }

[ ** _Pregnant sex! Cash in on those pregnancy hormones!_** ]

“No,” Wade shake his head, “It’s not like that.” His hands drop into his lap and he stares at the wall. Peter’s face comes to mind. White makes a lewd noise. “He’s just a kid. I should help him out, at least financially.”

Yellow scoffs. { _Sure. With what money?_ } Wade’s stomach turns. { _You’ve spent all your money on drugs and hookers. You’re a great role model, Wade. I’m sure you’ll be an even better parent._ }

Wade stands up and starts pacing, sonogram in hand. “It’s not like that. I can do better. I can change.”

[ ** _Seriously, two words: Pregnancy. Hormones. And he’s young. Our knot might just break._** ]

“Shut up! You are _not_ helping,” Wade yells, hating how he looks like a maniac yelling at the air in front of his face.

[ ** _Don’t be so cranky. I’m looking at the bright side of this! Horny, pregnant, omega_**.] Wade’s glaring now. [ ** _Hell yeah._** ]

Wade sighs, rubbing his head. When he looks up, he realizes that he’s paced out into the hallway. He doesn’t remember leaving his room. { _You can’t throw money at the kid. You can’t half-ass this. If you stick around, what are the chance that Peter will be able to find a mate? No alpha wants another alpha sniffing around their omega. The best thing to do is cut your losses and run. He doesn’t even know your name. We could disappear._ }

“But it’s my kid. I should step up. I already hate myself. I don’t want to hate myself more for abandoning my kid,” Wade argues, voice weak, eyes finding the picture. It’s still in his hand. Although, it’s wrinkled from how tightly he’s been holding it. It’s so still. Wade wonders when it will start moving, when Peter will feel it kick. Peter has probably already heard its heartbeat. Wade wants to hear it too.

{ _What about your medicine?_ }

Wade’s attention snaps up. He stares in the direction of the kitchen. The prescription bottle should be on the counter still, beside a beer that is still mostly full. Self-loathing rushes through him. He can pretend that they aren’t for fun, but they aren’t his. And he can’t pretend that he doesn’t enjoy the high. There’s only one option. “They gotta go.”

[ ** _What?! NO! What!? WE need them!! Remember?!?! They make us feel good!!_** ] Wade stalks into the kitchen. They are where he left them, flat beer beside them. He picks them up and turns for the bathroom. He can’t change his mind over this. They need to go. This is the right thing to do.

Once in the bathroom, Wade dumps every pill into the toilet, shaking the empty bottle for good measure. [ ** _NOOOOOOOOOO!_** ] White wails, drowning out the noise from the toilet flushing. Wade watches them disappear, accomplishment warming his heart. He flushes again, to be sure they’re all gone.

White continues to whimper, crying about how unfair the world is. “Stop being so dramatic. We’re going to be fine.” Wade feels good, even if he flushed his money down the toilet. He spent more than he should've on them.

{ _Oh good. The pills are gone. All our problems are solved now._ }

Wade rolls his eyes and goes back into the kitchen. He grabs the beer and pours it down the sink. “Sarcasm is ugly. Just say what you want to say.”

{ _Takes ugly to know ugly_.}

“Fuck off. You’re in my head. What does that say about you?” Wade asks, putting the sonogram onto his fridge. He has an old realtor magnet that does the job. He’s not sure how he’s come to own it, but he’s grateful. Now the sonogram is at eye level. He can look at it whenever.

{ _That’s my point! I’m_ in your head _. That says more about you than about me. Keep your crazy out of that kid’s life. Both of their lives. It would have been better if you gave him an STD_.}

Wade shakes his head, as if shaking out Yellow’s thoughts. He focuses on the bean again, warmth flooding through him. Craziness aside, he can change. He can be better. [ ** _Aw. Looks just like you_**.]

{ _It’s a blob._ } Yellow’s voice is flat.

“It’s _my_ blob. Well, half of it. And I need to be better. You’re right, Yellow.”

{ _W-What?_ } He sputtering. Wade laughs.

For all that he’s wrong about a lot of things, Yellow does have one thing right, “I can’t half-ass this. Gotta use my full ass.” He pulls the picture off the fridge so he can look at the number on the back. “Maximum effort,” he whispers, making a silent promise to Peter to be better.

{ _And what exactly does that mean?_ }

Wade put the sonogram back onto the fridge, smile on his face. He can do this. “Booze goes. All of it.”

[ ** _NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_** ]

Wade ignores the screeching in his head and pulls out every bottle of alcohol he has in his kitchen. It’s more than Wade expected to find. He didn’t realize that this was actually a problem. He pours out every bottle of beer in the fridge, the vodka from the freezer, the tequila from the cupboard, and the whiskey that he found under the sink. Once the kitchen is alcohol-free, he searches around the apartment. He stashed alcohol in easy-to-reach places, so he wouldn’t have to get up to get a drink. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it looks bad. There’s a couple bottles of rum and another half-full bottle of whiskey. They all go. White is an incoherent, blabbering mess. Yellow is silent, but present. Wade can feel it.

Wade tosses the cigarettes he finds wedged between his headboard and the wall. He didn’t know they were there. He doesn’t even like smoking. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom gets looked through for more narcotics. He only sees toothpaste. He goes back to the kitchen to rinse out his sink. The kitchen smells like a bar. { _This isn’t going to make that omega fall in love with you_.} Yellow pipes up darkly.

Wade doesn’t stop. “He doesn’t need to fall in love with me. It’s about being someone _I_ can be proud of.” Wade looks at the sonogram, his hands wet and the stinging scent of alcohol still in the air. Warmth settles in his chest, right in that gaping hole. “It’s about being someone my kid can look up to.”

{ _Isn’t forcing a child to look at you abuse?_ }

Wade frowns. “That’s enough out of you.”

{ _What are ya gonna do? You threw out your pills._ }

Wade stops responding. Sure, he needs to find another way to drown out the voices, but he’s not going to use drugs. Yellow can chatter and rant as much as he wants, but Wade is his own person. He won’t be controlled. Wade knows that he has to be better, that he can do better.

The smell of alcohol dissipates and Wade sighs. That actually took a bit out of him. He looks around his place. The morning light is coming in through the windows now. This place is filthy. How long has he lived like this? He looks back at the sonogram and thinks about the number on the back. He can’t call Peter now, it’s too early, and Wade needs to pull his life together first. [ ** _You’ll never see him again._** ] White snarls. It's deeper than Wade's used to and sounds demonic. Wade’s eyes go wide. White is usually easy-going and happy-go-lucky to the point of annoyance. Yellow chuckles at Wade’s surprise. Maybe Yellow is the nice one.

He shakes his head. That’s not what’s important right now. Right now, he needs to clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! So Peter doesn't know yet, but Wade is ready as hell to take the chance to be a better person! Oh yeah! It was given as a suggestion to label this as a "slow reheating" fic. What do you guys think?
> 
> and wade may be acting impulsively, but isn't that part of who he is? He's gonna jump into this with both feet with his fingers crossed. Is that a good thing? We don't know...
> 
> Please, please, leave me comments! It keeps me motivated to keep going! I'm gonna need it now that school's started!


	9. NINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Wade going to call?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... so hey.... how is everyone doing? Hope you've had a good.... year... yikes... im sorry guys. This chapter was so hard for me to write... i got through two different "final copies" before settling on this one and it took so long to do... so i apologize guys
> 
> I also feel like I need to say some stuff because it has been so long and the MCU spiderman (Tom Holland) has been doing very, very well as spiderman... i just want to clarify that this peter parker is NOT Tom Holland. The inspiration for this spiderman comes mainly from the Civil War comic book with the writer Mark Millar. Closest in appearance would be ANdrew Garfield, but the spierman in this comic is definitely of age... at least i would hope so as it is written that he has a wife... I can't find the panels I swear are in there, but I know there's a passage in the novelization (written by Stuart Moore) that i read where Peter is talking with Aunt May about revealing his identity... but i digress. I wanted to make clear that this isn't Tom Holland, not that he's bad, just that it's not him.
> 
> now that i rambled for a while, I hope you guys enjoy this and i pray to god that it was worth the wait!

Peter doesn’t tell Aunt May that he found the alpha. In fact, he still has a healthy level of denial that he even met the man in person. Despite his vivid memories of the meeting that include high levels of panic and the smell of spicy food. And that he only has one sonogram now. He had both of them stuck up on his fridge and it took him a couple of times to not be surprised that there’s only one there now. Peter can remember the scent of the alpha, strong and musky, layered under the smell of old food and stale air that seeped from his apartment. He wondered the state of the apartment for a bit over the first few days after his visit. The memories of the morning after aren’t very clear. And there’s no way that he had a sword… right?

For three days after his visit, Peter was on edge, jumping every time his phone buzzed. His heart would find a new home in his throat and it always hurt to swallow it back down when the caller ID read _Aunt May_. The worst calls were the _Unknown Caller_ ’s. Peter would get disproportionately excited at those words then he would have to hold back tears when it was a telemarketer. He stopped jumping so much after three days, but he didn’t give up hope.

Even now, two weeks later, Peter still has a small amount of hope that the alpha will call him. He tries so hard to push down that little voice in the back of his head, the one that whispers that the alpha skipped town. But it’s hard. Seeing the alpha in person… Peter did tell the alpha that he wasn’t expecting anything from him, but _seeing him_ has given Peter all sorts of expectations, even if unwillingly. Peter blames his omega side for giving him these expectations. Peter desired the implicit protection that having an alpha claim would declare. He yearned for the comfort of an alpha scent embedded in his home. All useless omega feelings. There is no way that the memory of the alpha's hands is right. There is no way the alpha's hands were that big or that gentle every time he touched Peter. And if he did think about that, it would be because of that omega part of him. If there’s anything Peter wants (separate from the omega things) it’s the comfort of someone who can (at least partially) understand what Peter is going through right now. Aunt May is great, but she doesn’t understand.

Peter sighs and tries to focus his thoughts but focusing has been a chore. Focusing on school has been almost impossible, but he can’t fall apart. His professors don’t care if his life is a total mess right now, they only care if he completes his work on time. The energy Peter expends trying to focus on school—and not be distracted by thoughts of an absent alpha—is too much. Peter is exhausted more often than not, wanting to spend his free time napping rather than doing anything productive. He isn’t too worried about how tired he is, given his stress levels and the fact that Dr. Banner warned about fatigue. Although Peter does have a low-level worry that he’ll faint one of these days. But other than fatigue developing as a symptom (and some unfortunate bouts with morning sickness), Peter forgets that he’s pregnant most days. Until he sees the sonogram on the fridge, that is.

He might not be able to tell on his body yet, but there is a little person growing inside him. That  information never fails to blow his mind. He puts a hand over his still-flat stomach, trying not to think of the looks he’s going to get when he finally starts to show. The argument he had with Aunt May last night pops into his head.

It was not pretty. They were arguing about Peter contacting the alpha, again. She kept on insisting that talking to the alpha would be the "right thing to do" and Peter kept on giving excuse after excuse why he shouldn't find the alpha. He couldn't bring himself to tell her he already found the alpha. He doesn't want to see her face when he tells her the alpha has left the state already. From anyone else, he could maybe handle seeing that pitying face, but he can't from her. Not when she'll be trying hard to mask it. He’s already going to get trouble from society, he’s going to get those pitying looks and the “oh look at that poor omega”’s and Peter can't have his aunt look at him the same way. He doesn’t get any of that flack right now, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he does. It’ll most likely be on the day his scent changes.He could buy a scent-blocker, but he can’t afford to do that.

Peter sighs and tries to push that worry from his mind. A scent change is weeks away. Right now he should be worried about school, and work, and establishing himself as capable before his scent makes people question his competence. Jameson has let up on Peter a bit, so work is going better. That should ease some of Peter's stress, but it doesn't. Now he has to talk to Jameson about maternity leave soon.

But his biggest stress continues to be school. It’s already kicking his ass. Case in point: it’s only two weeks into the semester and he is already behind on his readings. Between attending classes, work, and living, Peter is stretched thin. There’s so much information being taught and not enough time in the day to remember it. Sometimes even consume it. He sighs and lets his hand fall from his still-flat stomach, slumping into a kitchen chair like the whole world is resting on his shoulders. On the table in front of him are his books, spread out and open to various required readings. Sticky notes, highlighted passages, and scribbles in the margins mark his progress through the readings. None of the readings are finished. Seeing everything he has to do laid out in front of him makes him want to cry. He closes his eyes and reaches for a book, pulling it in front of him and picking up where he left off.

A few minutes later, he curses out loud. This reading isn't making much sense, which means he’ll have to read it more than once to get it. And that he should be taking notes as he reads. He hunts down his highlighter and pencil and settles in for a few hours of mind-numbing silence, too tired to think of a more efficient way to muddle through this.

Peter was right: on the second time around, the reading started to make a little more sense. The page is littered with notes and is more highlight than not, but he feels comfortable with the material. That confidence also carries over into his next reading, which is a little easier than the last one. But it’s also boring. He’s about halfway through the text before he has to stop to yawn. It’s a big one, his jaw cracking, back stretching, and tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He’s so sleepy. All he wants to do is go to bed, but he’s not even close to being done yet. He slumps in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, just a moment, when his stomach rumbles. “Shit,” he curses, under his breath, head falling back. He’s thankful Aunt May isn’t here to yell at him for forgetting to eat. Again.

He groans, standing and going to the fridge. He opens it with a sigh of annoyance, frustrated that he has to waste precious time eating, of all things. Before Peter can get caught in that train of thought, he spots a Tupperware of lasagna Aunt May made for him. She prepped all sorts of single-serve meals; they fill his freezer and all he has to do is remember to defrost them. Guilt stabs him in the gut at the thought of how much Aunt May is still taking care of him, even when she’s not here, and Peter can't tell her the truth. He puts it in the microwave before he can think too much about that.

Guilt swirls inside him as he watches the food spin. So much for not thinking about it... How can he be so cruel to the person that raised him? How can he continue to lie to Aunt May when this means so much to her? He shakes his head and grabs his phone, opening it and staring at his home screen. Should he tell her right now? His hold tightens around the phone. He’s going to tell her. He has to tell her.

He goes into his contacts and his finger hovers over Aunt May’s name. He’s going to tell her… but does he have to tell her right now? Maybe he won’t tell her now, but he _will_ tell her. Maybe… maybe after the kid is born… and the alpha isn’t there. When Peter will stare at the place where his baby’s alpha’s name should be on the birth certificate… and he won’t have anything to write there.

His phone starts buzzing in his hand and he almost drops it in surprise. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s an unknown number. Irritation bubbles under his skin. He isn’t in the mood to deal with another telemarketer. Don’t they have any sense of place? Peter is in the middle of a breakdown. A flare of anger travels through him, then he sighs, anger receding as fast as it came. It’s not their fault. They’re just doing their job. He lets out a heavy sigh and hits answer. “Hello?” He starts a count in his head. A few seconds and he’ll hang up.

“ _You sound tired, Baby Boy._ ”

Peter stands straight up, eyes snapping to the wall in front of him. He can’t believe his ears, all the fatigue and fear of the past couple weeks evaporating in the next moment. “You… you called…” Peter says, surprised by how relieved he sounds. He thought he would sound more shocked, or angry. Despite what he tells himself, he's mostly given up the hope that the alpha would ever contact him.

“ _Yeah… I'm sorry I didn’t call sooner. I was… trying to figure some stuff out._ ”

Peter holds his breath, waiting for him to continue, but silence falls between them. Each second that the silence stretches, the heavier it feels. He told the alpha he didn’t have any expectations, but hearing that alpha’s voice in his ear again, Peter knows that he lied, to himself and to the alpha. He doesn’t want to do this alone.

The weight of silence gets to be too much; Peter has to break it. “Did…” Peter swallows, trying to use the moment to compose himself, “…did you decide?”

The alpha clears his throat and there’s movement like he could be nodding. “ _Yeah. Yes I did… I just… I thought this would be easier to do when I called, but I don’t know what to say first_.” He chuckles weakly. Peter clenches his jaw, trying to hold back the tears he can feel coming. He should have prepared for this. He feels so stupid having any sort of expectation.

Peter tries not to think about the alpha wanting, or trying, to let him down easy. Trying to think of the best way of saying ‘sorry, kid, you’re on your own.’ It’s hard to hold himself together, though. All the pain and stress of the past two weeks comes crashing down on him, pushing the air from his lungs, keeping him from pulling a full breath. He’s going to be alone. This weight is never going to leave him. “Tell me your name,” Peter requests, wanting at least that much for his child. Wanting at least that much for the inevitable questions he's going to have to try to answer. He doesn’t realize he has his hand over his chest until he notices his heart beating against his palm.

“ _Right! Yes! It’s Wade!_ ” There’s a manic note in Wade’s voice that Peter can empathize with. It’d be funny, if Peter wasn't looking at a future alone. Wade takes a deep breath and continues to talk. “ _Wade Wilson. Sorry. It’s Wade._ ”

“Wade,” Peter echoes, his face pulling into a faint smile despite… everything. “It suits you.” Tears prick in his eyes, but nothing falls. Not yet. His voice is still steady.

Wade chuckles again, but it’s deeper than the last one, filled with genuine amusement. Peter likes the sound, and it hurts to think he won’t hear it anymore. “ _Thank you. I did not pick it myself._ ”

Peter laughs, but it feels like glass in his throat. He’s torn between wanting Wade to tell Peter he’s already three states away with no intention of stopping and every intention of changing his name, and having Wade promise he’s going to stick around. Whichever one, Peter thinks he wants it to happen now. He needs to know.

Peter opens his mouth, to demand an answer, but it catches in his throat. The part of him, the silly, stupid omega part, wants to hold onto the hope a little bit longer.

Thankfully, Wade breaks the silence this time. “ _It’s good to hear your voice, Baby Boy. Makes everything so real._ ”

“It’s good to hear your voice too,” Peter chokes out, finding his seat at the table again, ignoring the beep of the microwave. His legs aren’t going to hold him up much longer. His voice is starting to crack, Peter can feel it in his throat. His eyes are burning.

“ _I wanted to call you right away, but I had some things I needed to take care of first._ ”

Peter closes his eyes, some tears falling down his cheeks, and tries his hardest not to think of what ‘things’ mean. But it’s too late. He’s imagining For Sale signs and U-Hauls… and an empty apartment with the sonogram Peter gave him left in the middle of it. “Things?” Peter manages to ask, somehow holding back a sob that he can feel in his throat. His voice is tight now, scared of what Wade will tell him, but he has to ask. He needs to know.

_“Yeah!”_ Wade sounds so happy and it hurts Peter all the more. He’s happy to leave Peter behind? How can Wade be so happy? Does their child mean so little to him? It doesn’t make sense. Wade looked so… in awe when Peter gave him the sonogram. Peter curses his omaganess. His pheromones probably influenced Wade’s emotions in that moment. “ _I cleaned my apartment._ ” Wade’s voice cuts through Peter’s spiral. “ _It’s cleaner than when I moved in! It took two whole days, Peter.”_ The casual use of his name is another stab to his heart. _“And I had to find a job…. That wasn’t easy, but I got steady enough work. And I’ve gone to some group stuff…”_ He pauses and Peter holds his breath. _“I feel like I'm in a place where I can contact you now.”_

Peter swallows once, trying not to get his hopes up. “Does that mean…?”

_“I'm gonna help you. I'm going to be there every step of the way for you and our bean.”_

The relief that Peter feels manifests in a cracked sob that comes from deep inside his chest. He can’t control the tears now, but they’re happy tears. It’s so hard to believe that if someone asked Peter yesterday, he would have been able to say that he was okay with Wade disappearing from his life.

_“Are you crying?!”_ Wade sounds like he’s panicked. _“Baby Boy, Peter, if you don’t want—”_

“No, no!” Peter cuts him off. “I'm relieved. I'm so happy you want to help out.” He wipes at his eyes and nose, calming a bit, a laugh somehow coming from his chest. It sounds good, light. Like he’s actually happy. “Dammit Wade. Couldn’t you have started with that? I thought you were going to tell me that you skipped town.”

_“ **Never** , Baby Boy. **Never** ,” _Wade declares _. “I'm gonna do everything for our child. You’re not going to be alone, either. Anything you need, Peter, and I will give it to you.”_

Peter sniffles, smile on his face, the knot around his heart loosening. “Thank you, Wade." Peter gives a watery laugh, wiping at his nose. "Sorry for being such a wreck.”

_“No, no, no, no. Don’t be. Are you okay? Do you need someone to come over?”_

“I'm fine,” Peter assures him, wiping at his eyes again, “just emotional. Besides, you live too far away. I need to go to bed soon, I have an 8 am lab tomorrow.” Peter tries not to think about how he assumed it would be Wade coming over, when he didn’t offer himself to come. And Peter hardly knows the guy. Peter knows better than to give a strange alpha (even one he’s having a baby with) his address without having a full in-person conversation with them. And maybe not even then.

_“It’s almost 11! Why are you still up!?”_

“Trying to keep my head above water,” he sighs, and his stomach makes another loud rumble. “Oh yeah…” He looks to the microwave, now dark. His food has probably gone cold by now, even if it’ll still be delicious, Peter grimaces. “And I have to eat something, too.”

_“Peter!”_

“I know,” Peter winces. Great. Another person to get on his case about eating regularly. “I didn’t mean to… time got away from me. There’s a lot more reading than I anticipated.”

_“Reading?”_

“Yeah. For class. Last year was so much easier,” Peter sighs, trying to keep out the swell of hurt in his stomach. Last year was a lot easier… for a lot of reasons. “I-I should go, though,” Peter says quickly, needing to get off the phone before he does something embarrassing, like cry again. “Early morning and all that. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

There’s a moment of silence. _“O-Of course!”_ Wade sounds shocked. Peter wonders why Wade would be shocked. _“How about I buy you some lunch?”_

“You don’t have to do that,” Peter starts to argue, but Wade is speaking before he’s even done his protest.

_“Please? This is more for me than for you.”_

Peter smiles in confusion. “How so? The way I see it, I'm getting some free food.”

Wade chuckles. _“That’s just a perk for you, Baby Boy. It’s so I know that you’re being fed… and so I can see your pretty face again.”_

Peter blushes, despite himself. “Okay… lunch. My last class ends at two-thirty.”

_“Great! When do you want to meet?”_

“Um… I know it’s a little far from where you are, but can we meet on campus? There are a few good places around the university.”

_“Sure thing, Baby Boy. I’ll text you tomorrow?”_

“Okay, Wade.” Peter can’t help the smile on his face.

_“Goodnight, Peter. Make sure you eat something. Then straight to bed.”_

Peter rolls his eyes, still smiling. “I will. Goodnight, Wade.” He hangs up the phone, the smile still lingering on his face and feeling almost foreign. How long has it been since he smiled? Since he felt this light? It’s like he’s finally free of a weight he didn’t know he was carrying. He’s still carrying some stress from school, and his fear about what people are going to say when he can pretend he’s not pregnant anymore, but it all feels a little smaller. A little easier to carry.

He stands and retrieves the lasagna from the microwave. It’s still a little warm, more warm than cool. He sits at the table and digs in, thinking about Wade. He feels good now, like things will be okay. Not like things are going to work out white-picket-fence perfect, but that it’s going to be okay. That assurance echoes through Peter’s head as he continues to eat and when he puts his textbooks back into his bag. He’s in a good mood as he gets ready for bed, through all the steps he needs to take before he can curl in bed. He leaves the Tupperware to soak in the sink, brushes his teeth, and changes into his pajamas. Crawling into bed, Peter isn't filled with dread for whatever tomorrow will bring.

The only dark part is right before he falls off to sleep. He wonders why it took Wade two weeks to contact him. And his imagination has proven not to be his friend so far.

\------------------------------------

To say that Peter feels nervous is an understatement. Although, this isn't the most nervous he’s been, especially in the last few weeks. He’s pretty sure that his appointment with Dr. Banner was more nerve-wracking than this. That being said, he’s also sure the notes that he took for class today are absolute gibberish. He couldn't focus on anything but this lunch. He remembers going to class, sitting there, pen in hand, and writing away, but he can’t remember anything he might have written. Not even if he wrote the date or not. He’d panic about the poor quality of notes if all his panic wasn’t already focused on this meeting with Wade. And he can admit that he’s panicking. This whole thing with Wade… it’s a big deal. It would be stupid if he wasn’t panicking at least a little bit.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He’ll deny the yelp that he made, no matter how many people turn to see him fumble with his phone, as if they're looking for the source of some weird sound. His hands are also _not_ shaking, even if it takes him a moment to read what his phone says. _One new message: Wade Wilson_. Peter takes a deep breath and opens it.

> FROM: Wade Wilson [15:02]
> 
> Hey bby boy! <3 waiting @ entrance! Wearing a black hoodie! :)

 Peter smiles, some of his nerves leaving him.

> TO: Wade Wilson [15:03]
> 
> Black hoodie? Very conspicuous lol
> 
>  
> 
> FROM: Wade Wilson: [15:03]
> 
> No worries bby boy! I’ll always find you! ;)

Peter shakes his head and adjusts his backpack, picking up his pace. He doesn’t want to keep Wade waiting for their… Peter pauses mid-stride, to the annoyance of some of the people walking behind him. Is this a date? Are they dating? _Should_ they date? They’ve skipped over so many steps already... would it even make sense to date?

Peter starts walking again, lost in thought, half paying attention to where he’s going. Is Peter even in a place where he can date _anyone_? Peter still think about Gwen, still loves her, even months after she’s gone. Would it be fair to date Wade when Peter’s still so wrapped up in his… ex?

He doesn’t realize where he’s walking until he’s almost walking into an alpha’s chest. The alpha’s scent is the only reason Peter doesn’t freak out or turn tail and run. Even though that scent should make him want to run in the opposite direction, given how panicked he is. He inhales again. Burnt matches and spicy food. Peter looks up and the first thing he sees is Wade’s eyes. They’re still so blue and warm. Then Peter notices that he can see Wade’s face, even if the way he’s standing means that only Peter can see it. Peter’s heart lurches, like he’s been presented with something precious, something carefully guarded. Wade is wearing that same black hoodie from that night. Peter has a sudden, visceral memory of the zipper being too cold against his bare chest and he shivers.

“You okay, Baby Boy?” Wade asks, forehead creasing with concern.

“Of course,” Peter replies automatically, smile across his face. Wade gives him a skeptical look. It’s stupidly attractive. “I'm okay,” Peter insists, “I'm just thinking about some stuff.”

Wade’s face lights up. Stupidly. Attractive. “Fun stuff?”

A surprised laugh escapes Peter. Really? How can an alpha be so adorable? “Future stuff,” Peter half-lies.

Wade grimaces. “That sounds stressful.”

“It is,” Peter sighs, adjusting his backpack again. The sigh has unsettled the careful balance he had and now he’s off-centre. Damn textbooks.

Wade’s eyes go wide and he lifts Peter’s backpack off his shoulders before Peter knows what’s happening. “Hey!” Peter protests.

“Nuh-uh, Baby Boy,” he grunts, almost falling over when he gets the straps off Peter’s shoulders. “Holy Guacamole! This weighs more than me!” He grunts again, swinging the bag for some momentum to get it on his own back.

Peter giggles. “It’s not _that_ heavy.” He reaches for the straps. “You don’t have to—”

“Nope!” The little pop Wade makes with the ‘p’ is _not cute_. Peter refuses to believe it. “Now that I know how heavy this thing really is, you’re not allowed to carry it anymore.” Peter raises an eyebrow. “I forbid it.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes. “You forbid it? How are you gonna enforce that?”

Wade pouts and kicks at the ground, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. Oh no. He’s adorable. “I’ll figure it out,” Wade sniffs.

Peter chuckles and shakes his head. He wants to argue, but he has a feeling that he and Wade could argue for hours. “Okay. Fine. You win, for now. Do you have any cravings for lunch?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Wade asks, wiggling his brow. Peter snorts and whaps him on the shoulder. Wade laughs. Peter kind of loves that sound? “Up to you, Baby Boy. I’ll eat anything. But I’d never say no to some good Mexican food.”

“Okay, there’s a good place five minutes from here. If we go now, we’ll most likely beat the dinner rush.”

Wade strikes a pose. “Lead the way!” And he takes a step to rebalance himself from the extra weight on his back, leaning dangerously to one side before falling into a lunge and stepping out of it, expression on his face unchanged. Like nothing happened.

Peter giggles and starts walking, Wade falling into step next to him. As they walk, Wade tries to adjust the backpack, shrugging his shoulders, without trying to be obvious. And, if Peter wasn’t paying extra close attention to Wade, he might not have noticed the stumbling. Peter never considered his backpack to be that heavy. It’s only his school stuff. It’s no heavier than last year. But maybe… with his condition it is too heavy for him. He’ll have to ask Dr. Banner.

They don’t speak for the short walk to the restaurant, but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. Peter likes having Wade next to him; it makes everything feel more real. And… it feels right to have Wade there. The alpha is surprisingly adorable for how intimidating he is at first glance. He’s taller than Peter, broader, stronger, but gentle. And very… firm, if memory is to be trusted.

Thankfully they get to the restaurant before Peter can think too much. It’s not bad to think about these things, but with the way Peter’s mind has been prone to spiralling, perhaps it’s best not to allow himself to think on one topic for too long. Wade rushes in front of Peter when Peter indicates that this is the restaurant he had in mind. It’s a nondescript little place, dirty white with green trim and frosted windows. Wade opens the door, giving a dramatic bow, taking a step under the weight of the backpack. Peter giggles and rubs his hand over Wade’s head as he passes. “Thank you, Wade.”

He steps inside and greets the hostess with a smile. She’s a pretty beta, with thick brown hair and deep, brown eyes. Her smile is warm and bright. Peter can’t help but think it was a good choice to put her greeting customers. “Welcome! Table for one?”

“No,” Peter looks over his shoulder and sees Wade step inside, smile still on his face, “for two.” Wade is giving him a soft look that makes Peter’s heart melt and he can’t look at it for too long.

Peter turns back to their hostess in time to see the moment she sees Wade. Her eyes go wide, the smile falling off her face and the color draining from her cheeks. That doesn’t last long. She plasters a too-wide smile onto her face fast, but not fast enough for Peter to not see the horror. She steps out from behind her podium, menus clutched in one hand in front of her chest, her other hand extended. “This way please.” She starts walking, putting a lot of distance between herself and the pair of them..

Peter looks to Wade, and he’s started to shrink in on himself, looking down and making sure that his hood covers his face. Peter reaches out and grabs Wade’s hand without thinking, squeezing it in support. Wade jumps at the contact but doesn’t look up. Peter leans in towards Wade and whispers, “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

Wade chuckles and it’s weak. “It’s okay, Baby Boy. Won’t get different treatment anywhere else.”

It feels like someone is squeezing Peter’s heart. He swallows and leans up, giving Wade a light kiss on his cheek. Wade’s hand tightens around Peter’s as his whole body tenses at the contact. “Whatever you want, Wade,” he whispers.

Wade gives Peter’s hand a squeeze. “Lead the way, Baby Boy.” Peter smiles and turns, looking for their hostess. She’s stopped a little way away from them, looking contrite, but still nervous. Peter has to wonder if there’s something going on with her. Peter gives Wade’s hand another squeeze and pulls Wade along after her, putting himself between her and Wade.

She seats them at a table in the back, tucked into a corner. Peter is grateful. At leas here no one can look at Wade like he’s some sort of freak show. The table is half-lit and Peter takes the well-lit side, allowing Wade to have the shadows. The only bad part is that Wade has to brush past the hostess to get to his seat. She tenses when he gets too close, which makes Wade tense in response. He rushes into his seat, dropping into it like a stone.

Peter is still a little angry with the hostess, even as she gives Peter a wan smile. He’s also a little angry with himself. He never considered what it might be like for Wade out in public. Peter doesn’t care about the scars, but obviously some people do. “Y-Your server will be with you soon,” she says after the menus are out of her hands and dashes off before either of them can respond.

Peter glares at her retreating back. There’s part of him that wants to talk about what happened, but he’s not sure that Wade would welcome it. Instead, silence falls between them.

What else can they talk about? Okay… that’s a bad question. They have _so much_ to talk about with each other, but where should they start? If they aren’t going to be talking about the customer service here, should they talk about serious stuff? Like serious _baby_ stuff? Like… custody? Or, god forbid, preschools? Or should they try to get to know each other? Play twenty questions? Peter knows next to nothing about Wade. The only things he does know are: he has cleaned his apartment, got a job, is doing some group thing, and he likes Mexican food. That’s not much to start a relationship on. Oh God. Peter has circled back to his original question: Is this a date?

Peter clears his throat and Wade’s attention snaps to him. Even in the poor lighting, Peter can see the blue of his eyes and he freezes. He was going to say… something… but he can’t remember what. He breaks eye contact with Wade and stares at his shoulder, and he frowns. “Are you still wearing my backpack?” Peter asks. He would wince at the stupid question if he wasn’t so confused. At least he said something.

Wade’s eyes go wide and he looks over his shoulder. He makes a sound and chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to Peter with an embarrassed smile on his face. “I guess I am.” Peter chuckles as well, somehow eased. “I guess I thought this chair was that uncomfortable.”

Peter laughs, tension easing out of him. He’s still nervous, but seeing Wade nervous soothes his own nerves a bit. It’s nice to know that they’re both floundering here. Wade shrugs off the backpack, putting it to the floor as carefully as he can. It’s a little heavier than he expects, if the squawk and flail that he does to keep himself balanced in his chair is anything to go by. Peter laughs again, earning a playful glare from the alpha.

Their server pops up at their table before they can say anything else. “Hello, my name is Ahmed. I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?” He’s smiling at them, pouring water into the two glasses that were already out on the table. Peter offers a nice smile in return to Ahmed. He can’t be that much younger than Peter himself. His hair is a curly, black mop on the top of his head and he has a thick pair of glasses sitting on top of a big nose. His cheeks are covered in acne scars and, when he smiles, Peter can see that his teeth aren’t completely straight. And Peter can smell the soothing natural scent of a beta on him.

“Water’s good for me,” Peter tells him, taking a sip from the glass in front of him.

The beta nods and turns his attention to Wade. Peter can only see a bit of Ahmed’s face from this angle, but he can see the smile stutter on his face for a moment. It settles into shock for a moment, but returns to a gentle warmth a moment later. “And for you, sir?” he asks, relaxed.

“Water’s fine,” Wade grunts, uncomfortable. He picks up his napkin and starts fiddling with it, focusing all his attention on it.

“Okay. Do you need another moment with the menus, or are you ready to order now?”

“Another few minutes, please,” Peter says, bringing Ahmed’s attention back to him.

Ahmed nods, still smiling and takes a step back. “Of course. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He disappears without another word. Peter watches him leave for a moment before turning his attention back to Wade. What can he say to him? What _should_ he say?

They’re meeting up to talk about this whole… bean thing, right? But what do they talk about? Do they only talk about the bean? How they are going to split the cost of child-rearing? No… that seems a little heavy to talk about right out of the gate. After all, this is only the first time they’re meeting face to face after Peter shared the news. Is this a date? Peter’s eyes widen. He kissed Wade earlier! Like they’ve been together for years! Not like they’re practically strangers who accidentally put a bun in the oven almost two months ago! This can’t be a date… right? It was only a kiss on the cheek…

Before Peter can spiral any further, Wade speaks up, “So… we should probably talk.”

Peter swallows and nods. “Y-Yeah. That… yeah… okay.”

Wade sighs and rubs the back of his head. “We should probably discuss logistics.”

“Logistics?” Peter would slap himself, if he could move. Can he only repeat what Wade is saying or stare at him?

Wade opens his mouth, but Ahmed comes back before a sound can come out, pen and pad of paper in hand. “Are you gentlemen ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?” he asks, looking at both of them expectantly.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, then they both look at their menus. Peter orders the first thing that catches his eyes, and forgets what he said a moment later when he’s handing the menu back to Ahmed. Wade orders something (chimichangas?), but Peter isn’t concerned about that right now. Right now, he’s more concerned with Wade was going to say. There’s a small bubble of hope in Peter’s chest… maybe…

Peter likes Wade, probably more than he should. The more he learns about the alpha, the more he wants to know. Maybe… hopefully… Wade feels the same. “How do you want to do this?” Wade asks bluntly once Ahmed is out of earshot.

Peter frowns. “Do this?” He doesn't like the sudden serious tone that Wade is using.

Wade nods. “Yeah. So you have a plan yet, or an idea of how we’re going to balance this?”

“Balance this?”

“Yes, like the medical expenses, nursery items, baby care.” That hope Peter is feeling flares a bit brighter in his chest. Wade is talking about a life together. “And we should work out some schedule for after the bean is born. I mean, I don’t think a pup can be away from their birthing parent, but we can work out weekends for me, because I want to be there.”

“Weekends?” Peter echoes, his throat tightening and that hope dimming.

“Or alternating weekends!” Wade offers hastily, his eyes going wide. Peter shakes his head and Wade’s face (or what Peter can see of it) falls. “No, I'm not saying no… weekends work fine… but I don’t…”

Peter wants to ask why Wade doesn’t want to be with him, but he can’t get the words out. He hardly knows Wade, he shouldn’t be so disappointed. And he told Wade that he didn’t expect anything from him. Peter swallows. If this is what Wade wants… “That’s so far in the future. What if things change before then?”

Wade looks uncomfortable but resigned. “If you don’t want me—”

“No, I do,” Peter cuts him off, reaching across the table to hold onto one of Wade’s hands. “I'm so relieved that you want to be part of… this.” He takes a deep breath, swallowing down his disappointment. “I just… I don’t think I can plan that far into the future. At least not yet…”

Wade nods, relieved. “Okay, Baby Boy. I understand.”

Silence falls. Peter desperately wants to ask Wade the reason he doesn’t want to be with Peter. Is it because he’s not good enough? Because he’s a bad omega? Peter grimaces at the thought. He’s not like that. He doesn’t think of omegas that way. It’s stupid to get worked up like that. And he doesn’t want to hear the answers to those questions either. “So,” Wade continues, “let’s talk shorter term for now.”

Wade looks flustered for a moment and it’s incredibly cute. It helps Peter push down the disappointment he’s feeling. Peter smiles at him. “Doctor’s appointments!” Wade blurts out, making Peter jump. “You have doctor’s appointments, right?”

Peter can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. “Yes, Wade, I have doctor’s appointments. The next one is October 10th.” Wade squirms a little in his seat. Peter’s brow furrows. “Do you want to come?”

“Can I?” Wade asks before Peter’s even done asking his question.

The hope in those two words has Peter’s heart seizing. “Of course.” He pauses, debating on saying what he wants to say next. He looks down at the table, fiddling with his own napkin. He debates internally for a moment, then adds, “I want you there.”

There’s a burst of happy alpha pheromones and Peter has to look up. Wade’s face is tight, like he’s trying to stop himself from showing too much emotion, but his eyes are sparkling.

Peter tries not to take the excitement personally; any alpha would be happy to be part of their child’s life. Any good alpha at least. Wade seems to be one of the good ones. And Peter should be grateful that Wade is one of the good ones, that he’s not one of those alphas that would try to take their child away from him.The harsh reality is that alphas generally granted sole custody over children. There are some judges who think that a child shouldn't be without their omega parent, but they are a minority. Peter doubts there would be a judge out there, even in that minority, that would believe Peter could raise a child by himself. Wade would likely get sole custody if he petitioned for it...

“Okay,” Wade exhales, bringing Peter back from the cruelty of the custody cases of modern times. “The 10th?” Peter nods. Wade digs out his cell phone, fumbling with it from excitement. “What time?”

“Eight in the morning.”

“Eight?!”

Peter hunches his shoulders reflexively. It’s too early. Stupid, stupid Peter. “Yeah… it’s the only time that worked for me.”

“Okay, I'm sorry. I’ll be there. I’ll be there with bells on,” Wade promises, putting a lot of focus on his phone as he taps in the information. He looks a lot less excited now.

Peter feels bad for asking Wade to come before he gave all the information. Really, he’s so stupid. “You don’t have to come—”

“No way, Baby Boy,” Wade cuts him off without turning away from his phone, but his tone is still light. “I'm going to be there. Where is the office?”

Peter takes Wade’s phone and inputs the address himself, ignoring the title of the event ( _Baby Boy + Baby Bean <3_). He hands the phone back with a slight blush on his cheeks. “You really don’t have to come if it’s inconvenient.” Wade tenses up. “I-I mean I have my aunt, so it wouldn’t be like I was going alone...”

“I… I don’t have to go if you don’t want me there…”

Peter shakes his head. “No! No. I want you there. I jus… I know that eight is not a convenient time…”

Wade reaches over the table, setting his phone face down on the table with one hand and grabbing Peter's hand with the other. Peter looks up. Wade’s face is very soft, but serious. “I promise you, Baby Boy. I _want_ to do this with you, through every step. No time will be inconvenient to me.” Some of the weight on Peter’s chest lifts, but not all of it. There’s still parts of Peter that are unsure. Wade only seems interested in being around for the baby.

But… isn't that a good thing? That Wade wants to be involved. He could have fled the country by now. It’s… is Peter only one of “those” omegas? One of those omegas only good for breeding? Not as a partner? A cautionary tale for younger omegas?

He’s saved from thinking about it too long with Ahmed returning with a steaming dish in each hand. Wade lets go of Peter’s hand and sits back, giving the beta a friendly smile, even if he shrinks back a bit. He helps clear space for Ahmed. Ahmed shoots Wade a grateful smile and sets the food down. Peter watches the exchange with a small smile of his own. He can’t bring himself to say anything to Ahmed but gives a grateful nod when he looks Peter’s way.

He tries not to think throughout their meal, but he’s still sad. They talk throughout their meal, going through other possibilities for the future. Each detail they decide on keeps them both involved in the child’s hypothetical life but keeps them separate from one another. Each of those details is another spike through Peter’s heart. It all boils down to raising their child together, but in separate houses.

Wade looks ecstatic by the end of the meal and Wade’s energy is the only reason Peter can plaster a smile on his face. Peter’s omega brain keeps on asking _Why? Why am I not good enough?_ But Peter knows the answer to that question would devastate him.

Once they’re done, Wade is paying before Peter can get his wallet out. He also leaves a large tip on the table for Ahmed. Peter watches Wade in silence, listening to Wade’s rambling with a smile. Wade can talk a lot, about everything. Peter doesn’t mind. He likes Wade’s voice. And the energy that Wade is giving off is hard to be sad around. Even something as simple as walking out of a building has a high level of energy.

Peter watches as Wade bursts out of the restaurant doors, Peter’s backpack back on his shoulders, throwing off his balance again. The stumble doesn’t make that energy waver, though. Peter can’t help but smile. Alphas should not be as cute as Wade is, but he’s grateful. With Wade acting the way he is, it makes Peter’s smile feel a little more genuine.

Wade spins to face Peter, but the backpack does not stop with him, so he over-rotates on the spin and nearly falls onto his face, an undignified squawk leaving him as he corrects himself. Peter giggles at him, covering his mouth with his hand. Wade’s eyes snap to him, a flush on his cheeks and a small smile on his lips. Cute. “Careful,” Peter teases, “those books have a mind of their own.”

Wade scoffs straightening up. “Wouldn’t be the first time a couple a’ books outsmarted me.”

Peter frowns. Wade’s words are light, but it doesn’t sound like he’s kidding. “Wade,” he chides, not liking that sort of talk.

“I should probably,” Wade plows on, talking over Peter like he didn’t say a thing, “let you get home. I'm guessing there’s a lot of work to be done.”

Peter groans. “Don’t remind me.” He pauses. “Are you busy tonight?”

Wade tenses and looks down. “I have… an appointment…. in a couple of hours.”

Peter swallows. It sounds like an excuse to let Peter down easy. Okay. It’s doesn’t matter if Wade only wants to be around for short periods of time. Peter can handle that. It’s fine. It’s cool. He nods, “cool. Cool.”

They stand together for a few awkward moments. “Can I have my books back?” Peter asks, words above a whisper. He’s suddenly very tired. Very tired and upset. All he wants to do is go home and be tired and upset over homework.

Wade grips onto the straps and frowns. “I know I should, but I don’t want you carrying all this.”

Peter’s stomach flutters. “Well… I live about twenty minutes away by subway. You could walk them back to my place?” he suggests, but regrets it the moment he sees the look on Wade’s face. It’s hard to describe, but Peter knows it’s the face of someone that’s hastily trying to think of a reason not to do something. “O-Only if you have time, that is,” he adds, hoping he doesn’t sound as upset as he feels.

Wade clears his throat and shakes his head. “No… I'm… I'm surprised that you’re gonna let me see where you live.”

Peter’s face crumples in confusion. “Of course you will. We’re having a child together.” Peter’s hand rubs over his still-flat stomach. Although, it doesn’t escape his notice that before this lunch date he was terrified of Wade knowing where he lives. But one meal together, listening to Wade and watching him stumble over himself like a dog that’s growing too fast and keeps on bumping into things... He rubs his stomach again, sure that he can feel a small swell, but he’s also sure that it’s all in his head. He looks back at Wade, hand still on his stomach, and Wade’s focus is on his hand. There’s a flash of… something in his eyes. That flash makes Peter flush, from his head to his toes. He clenches his hand and moves it to his side with effort. Only when it’s back at his side does Wade look unto his eyes again. “Walk me home?” Peter asks.

There’s a few seconds of sharp silence, the tension between them palpable. Peter keeps his breathing even, hoping he hasn’t set himself up for disappointment. Then, Wade smiles–a small, shy thing that makes him look at the ground to complete the look of bashful alpha. “Can’t say ‘no’ to such a pretty omega,” he says.

It’s such a cheesy line, but it fills Peter with happiness. Peter smiles back, fond. “Smooth talker,” he mutters and holds out his hand.

Wade laughs and grabs Peter’s hand. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

They both laugh and Peter’s heart races when he feels Wade’s rough hand twining with his own. Peter tries not to think too hard about what that means for them as he leads Wade to the subway station. He leans into Wade’s side and they laugh and chat the whole way there, Wade angling his head down so Peter can see his face. Peter loves it, adoring the way that Wade is looking at him, like Peter is the only important thing in the world. Although, Peter has to repeat one thing over and over in his mind:

This doesn’t mean anything.

\------------------------

Peter has spread his books over his kitchen table again. He’s trying to read, but he can’t focus. Why does Wade only want to be involved with their child? Peter’s happy about that, he is, but it still hurts to know that Wade doesn’t want anything to do with _him_ beyond incubation. Maybe that’s unfair, but why isn’t Wade interested?

Although now that he’s alone and out of the proximity of Wade’s alpha pheromones, Peter can understand why Wade might not want to be too involved. They don’t know each other. It would only make sense to keep their distance, especially if they have a kid on the way. What if they try to get to know one another and everything falls apart? What if all the amicable details they agreed upon over lunch go sour the more they learn about one another? And without Wade nearby, Peter’s omega side is much quieter. It’s easy for his omega instincts to overpower his rational mind. Peter’s omega wants Wade on an instinctual level, wants the alpha that knocked him up to stick around. It’s a survival thing. Peter doesn’t _need_ Wade around. He doesn’t _need_ some alpha to protect him. He can do this. And he did promise Wade as much involvement as he wanted. Well, this is as much involvement that he wants.

Peter sits up straight, nodding. Yes, he can do this.

With that conviction, he focuses in on his readings with new energy, pretending that there isn’t an ache in his chest like he missed out on something important.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> awwwww yissss finally talking to one another... somewhat... lol 
> 
> I hope you liked it! Please leave me your comments if you have time!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and kudos!


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